The Flash: Rise of the Rogues
by Al David
Summary: In the second volume of the saga that began with First Steps, Barry Allen must learn to balance his personal and heroic lives as a wave of supercrime rages throughout the Gem Cities.
1. Going Rogue

**THE FLASH: RISE OF THE ROGUES**

Chapter 1: Going Rogue

 _Tap tap tap tap tap._

Iris bounced her pencil up and down at a frantic pace, drawing extended glares from her nearby coworkers. She paid them no heed, her eyes glued to the computer screen in front of her, as it had been for the last two and a half hours. A blank page had occupied the screen for much of the time, but had—in brief 'breaks'—been replaced by her social media feeds.

One week ago to the day, the Central City Citizen had published her exclusive on the Flash. That article—that lucky break—should have launched her career, but as the editor-in-chief, Carla Florez, had noted, "One hit does not a career make," particularly in a world increasingly filled with metahumans. And so it was that she'd written nothing but fluff pieces for the last week. Bills must be paid, after all.

Finally, something—or rather someone—drew Iris' gaze, and in turn stopped her incessant tapping. She spotted her boss out of the corner of her eye. Quickly rising to her feet, Iris intercepted the editor-in-chief before she could pass her by.

"Carla," Iris began, only for her boss interrupt her, flaring her nostrils.

"For the last time, Ms. West, it's 'Ms. Florez,' or even just 'Florez.' Not 'Carla.' If you feel so obliged, I can make 'chief' work, too," Carla spoke a mile a minute.

"Right," Iris shrugged the comment off. "I was wondering, do you, by any chance, have an assignment for me? One that doesn't involve cat videos or the spelling bee?"

"You know how this works. You bring the stories to me, Ms. West, not the other way around," Carla said and stopped at the exit. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to pick up my daughter. Apparently she thought hand sanitizer looked positively delectable, and is now throwing up in the school bathroom."

Iris resisted the urge to laugh as Carla turned to leave, quickly saying, "Listen, I know I'm—do you have any advice, at least?"

Carla stopped, shut the door, and turned back to Iris. Then, without blinking, she said, "Take risks. Get out into the city. Live a little, and let the story find you."

She then began to leave, but froze in the doorway to offer one last piece of advice, "Just make it good. Be honest. Bullshitting isn't fun for anyone."

With that, Carla left, and Iris stood there in front of the door, her mind racing, a fire in her eyes.

Live a little? All right, but today she'd find that story. She'd find it and would pursue it to the ends of the earth.

The Flash had given her a second in the spotlight. Now, if she wanted to stay there, Iris would have to find the story of her career—the _second_ story of her career—on her own.

…

In the southeastern district of Central City lay an abandoned factory—the unspoiled leftovers of an era in which the city had deemed itself a blue-collar hometown. The factory was one of only a few in the so-called ghetto that had escaped the onslaught of newly built corporate and state offices, the result of a city government that couldn't afford to infiltrate its poorer districts. However, unlike many of its brethren, this factory remained free of drug dealers and gangs, at least in the traditional sense.

This was where the Rogues had set up shop.

Miguel "Mick" Rory snored on a crumb-covered couch, only to be awakened by the sound of the door opening. Criminal instincts kicking in, Mick reached for the pistol beneath his pillow, and aimed it at the doorway.

"Relax, Mick. It's just me," Leonard Snart explained, hands in the air, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Could've called ahead," Mick gruffly replied, lowering his gun.

"I did," Len retorted, moving over to his personal workspace.

Mick checked his phone, discovering two missed calls and a text from him. "Hmph."

Without looking up, Len spoke as he opened the duffel bag, "Clean up after yourself."

The hothead merely grunted in response, rising to approach his partner-in-crime. He squinted in confusion as Len unpacked the bag, revealing a number of odd-looking gadgets, including a pair of peculiar devices—one red and one blue—that hummed with energy.

"What's all this?" Mick wondered.

"STAR Labs perks. Consider them," Len picked up the blue device, its glow reflected in his gray eyes, "An upgrade."

…

"GET ON THE GROUND! THIS IS A ROBBERY!" screamed a masked man, the leader of a crew of—shocker—bank robbers, as he fired his assault rifle in the air.

Despite the initial expected reaction of pure terror from the crowd of innocents, nobody moved.

The robber shoved his gun against a senior citizen's head. "DID YOU HEAR ME, OLD TIMER? GET ON THE—"

"Ahem."

The masked man swiveled around, aiming his firearm at a red-costumed man known city-wide as the Flash, who simply leaned against a pillar.

"Sorry, I think I'm the reason no one's listening to you," the Flash admitted, shrugging as every single bank robber turned their gun on him.

In the blink of an eye, the Flash knocked out each of the criminals, pulling his punches so as not to cripple or kill them. A couple thugs managed to get off a few shots, but the self-styled superhero caught every bullet, preventing any casualties or property damage.

Dusting his hands of the bullets, the Flash smirked. "You're gonna need bigger guns to take me down." Then, with a flourish, he a turned to a bank teller, saying, "Please call the cops. And have a good day."

With nothing left to say, the Flash sped away from the scene.

…

"I am so, so sorry I'm late," Barry said, sitting down across from the lovely Patty Spivot at an outdoor café down by the precinct. "This old man was getting mugged, and…"

"You stepped up to save the day?" Patty smirked and leaned over the table to straighten Barry's bowtie. "However unlikely the story, it's fine, Barry. I wouldn't have asked you out if I wasn't okay with your…habits."

"I'm working on it," Barry admitted, blushing. "Timing's never been my forte. Anyway…food." He opened a menu, his mouth watering already. "God, I am starving."

"Worked up an appetite playing superhero?" Patty teased.

"You have no idea," Barry replied.

After placing a ridiculously large order, Barry looked Patty in the eyes, smiling. "So…tell me about yourself."

Patty rolled her eyes, amused at his stereotypical approach to conversation. "Um, let's see, I also grew up in a 'blue' family. My dad's a detective in Keystone. I attended Keystone U to get my bachelors in biological sciences—"

"No way. We must have been there at the same time. What class were you?" Barry asked.

"2010. I think I've got a couple years on you," Patty noted.

Barry laughed, "You do. So I gotta ask: you know the anthem?"

"Are you kidding? Of course," Patty glanced around. "You don't expect me to sing it, do you?"

"C'mon, we'll do it together," Barry chuckled, then began to sing, "Crimson and gold—'"

"—We break the mold," Patty reluctantly joined in. "Rage, rage, rage—no matter your age. Rage on, Twisters. Ma'ams and misters, come on—rage!"

The two erupted into laughter, ignoring the prolonged glares they received. After they settled down, Patty reached across the table. Barry hesitated for a moment, before he took her hand. Smiling warmly at one another, they enjoyed the moment in silence.

…

Iris sighed, crossing her arms, as Len entered the diner. "You're late again."

"I know. I'm sorry, babe. Things have been crazy at STAR Labs since those cult wackjobs attacked," Len explained, sitting down.

Iris leaned forward, interested, "What's going on? I want details."

Len chuckled, "Chill with the hard-nosed reporter routine. Can't we just have a normal lunch? Act like a normal couple?"

"A normal couple communicates, Len," Iris argued.

"A normal couple also trusts one another," Len rebutted.

A cold silence fell over the table. This was the first time they'd actually had a fight about the secrets Len kept and the half-truths he told. He'd promised Iris answers time and time again, but never provided them. It was the great flaw in their relationship, one Iris sought to fix. She wanted to make this work.

Len let out a reluctant sigh, then said, "You want to know what's going on? Fine—"

However, before he could finish that thought, Len locked eyes with a brunette woman across the diner and froze. Seconds passed.

"Len…?" Iris followed his gaze. "Who is that?"

The woman in question left cash on the table, got up, and started down toward the exit. Len rose to his feet to intercept her.

"Lisa…" He struggled to find the right words as he refused to let the woman pass him.

"Lisa—as in your sister, Lisa?" Iris wondered.

"Move, Lenny," Lisa coolly demanded.

"Can we talk?" Len asked. "I haven't seen you in almost a year."

"For good reason. I want nothing to do with you," Lisa retorted.

"Lisa, please. Just five minutes," Len begged.

She considered his proposal while Iris watched on, engrossed. The world worked in strange ways. She knew the Snart siblings weren't on the best of terms, and now she had a chance to find out why.

Iris stood up and offered her hand, "Hi. I'm Iris, Len's girlfriend. It's wonderful to finally meet you."

Lisa paused before shaking her hand. "Word to the wise, get as far away from him as possible. He hurts everyone he's close to."

Iris' reporter instincts kicked into overdrive, any concern she briefly had replaced by intense curiosity. What the hell had happened to make Lisa so cold?

"Can you—what do you mean by that?" Iris wondered.

Lisa sighed, then said, "For starters, he got my fiancé arrested and sentenced to life in Iron Heights." In response to Iris' shocked expression, she added, "You seem sweet. Run, girl. Run."

Finished, Lisa pushed past Len, who opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't manage a word. He knew he wouldn't win this battle. Pushing a response from his sister had only made the situation worse. Iris…

After the diner door chimed, signaling Lisa's departure, Iris shook herself out of her dazed state and looked at her boyfriend. "Len, we have to talk about—"

"Later," Len interrupted, shoving a wad of dollar bills onto the table. "I have to go to work."

Iris watched him leave, speechless, only for an idea to form in her head. Iron Heights, huh? Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone. What the hell was up with Len? And what would she write about?

The answers she was looking for were in Iron Heights.

…

Taking a break from work, Barry sped over to STAR Labs, only to discover Elias' lab was far from packed. He could spot only Chester and Elias, both of whom were huddled over a computer. With Max gone, that only left the question…

"Where's Gen?" Barry wondered.

"Vacation," Elias noted without looking up.

Chess offered a friendly smile, "Hey, Barry. Sorry we weren't on comms earlier. It's been nuts around here."

"What's up?" Barry asked, walking over to the duo to look over their shoulders at the computer.

"On top of the chaos created by Savitar and the Children of the Lightning, we're missing a number of dangerous—not to mention revolutionary—devices. As if we needed more bad press," Elias grumbled.

"No one in the media knows yet, but…" Chess didn't have to finish the thought.

Barry tried to help, "The security cams—"

"Weren't working between the hours of five and six in the morning. Of course. Whoever robbed us is experienced, talented—" Elias began, only for Chess to finish.

"And well-endowed," Chess realized what he said, then corrected himself, blushing, "I mean well-equipped."

"You considered that it could have been an inside job?" Barry offered.

Elias finally looked up at Barry, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. "That is—believe it or not—the most ridiculous thing you've ever said to me. This isn't just any run-of-the-mill research facility. This is STAR Labs. Our background checks run deeper than the FBI's."

"It was just an idea," Barry defended, hands in the air. "Anyway, this is clearly a bad time. I'll leave. Don't worry about Flash stuff. I can handle it alone."

"You better," Elias muttered, just seconds after Barry had zoomed off, leaving behind a trail of Speed Force energy.

…

In their oh-so-secret base, Mick lounged on the couch, tossing and catching a tennis ball while Snart worked on…something. All of this science crap was way over Mick's head. He'd tried to get a peek over and over again throughout the afternoon, but Snart stopped him each time he came near, only explaining that he wanted it to be a "surprise."

"How long's this gonna take?" Mick grumbled.

Snart stood up, swiveled around, and fired what Mick thought looked like a gun out of a sci fi flick. He narrowly avoided the stream of blue plasma that emerged from the weapon by flipping over the couch. When he could no longer hear the _WHOOSH_ of the gun, Mick poked his head over the edge.

"WHAT THE F—"

Smirking, Snart interrupted, "I'm done."

That's when Mick noticed the couch—it was completely frozen.

"The hell…?" Mick muttered.

"Think fast," Snart said, grabbing and tossing a similar looking gun at Mick.

The hotheaded pyromaniac caught the weapon and looked it over. The main difference between this gun and Snart's was the color of the humming power source. Mick's glistened a fiery orange, while Snart's was a cool blue.

"Try it," Snart pushed.

Mick hesitated, but nonetheless aimed the gun at the couch, pulling the trigger. A stream of smothering fire erupted from the weapon, engulfing the couch and quickly reducing it to ash. With the flames flickering in the reflection of his eyes, Mick began to laugh, absolutely engrossed.

"Gotta compliment your taste, Snart."

"The heat generator in your gun creates a stream of ultra-heated gas that, needless to say, acts quickly. My… _cold gun_ slows molecules to absolute zero, effectively freezing them in place," Snart explained.

"Meaning the Flash won't be so fast," Mick realized.

Snart nodded, grinning, "It's time, Mick. Let's go get our boys."

…

It took very little research to discover the identity of Lisa's fiancé, one Samuel Scudder. In turn, Iris managed to talk her way into being allowed to see him during visiting hours.

So it was by late afternoon that Iris found herself seated at a table, phone recording before her, watching Sam Scudder walk slowly over. He was a devilishly handsome blond who sported a neatly trimmed beard, and, despite the harsh conditions of Iron Heights, well-groomed hair. It didn't take a genius to realize this man was incredibly vain.

"So, Iris West," Sam spoke her name like it meant less than dirt. "You one of Lisa's friends? Why the hell does she keep sending you bimbos? She hasn't visited in months."

Iris swallowed her pride and got right to it, "Actually, I'm Len's friend."

That drew a reaction from Sam that—while expected—was quite telling. Face flushed, Sam's eyes darkened and his voice became eerily controlled, rage buried just beneath the surface.

"What. The hell. Does he want?" Sam whispered.

Iris took a moment to consider what to say next. "He wants to apologize for…what happened, and he wants to help you."

" _Does he_?" Sam muttered incredulously. "After all this time? We kept our mouths shut. We followed his stupid code straight to hell. And what does he give us in thanks? Jack squat. 'The Rogues are a family' my ass."

The Rogues? A code? This was a goldmine. Iris just had to keep digging. However, doubt and fear plagued her mind. Was Len…a criminal?

"I promise you he wants to help. He's just waiting for the right time…" Iris paused, then continued, "I…I'm new. The code, he hasn't explained it to me fully yet. Just so I know what I'm getting into, what exactly does it entail?"

Something in Sam's expression changed in a split second. Was that fear?

"Who the hell are you?" he wondered.

"Iris We—"

"Who the hell are you really?" Sam leaned forward threateningly. "Leonard Snart never, ever shuts up about the code. Every one of us knows it by heart. You're no Rogue."

Iris felt like her heart had sunk into her stomach. However, before she could stammer out an excuse, a new lie, or hell, even the truth, alarms started to sound. Guards flooded the room, grabbing each and every prisoner.

"What's going on?" Iris asked the guard who pinned Sam to the table.

As if to answer her question, a voice came over the loudspeaker, "Everyone, please remain calm. We have a security breach, but so long as you—"

The mic cut out suddenly. Iris ran over to the door and tried it. It was locked.

"Emergency protocols've been initiated. No one gets out until the crisis has been resolved," a guard explained.

"The crisis?" a woman near Iris exclaimed.

"My bet," the guard continued, "Is we've got an attempted prison break on our hands."

…

Len's initial plan involved an elaborate disguise, forged guard ID's, and the complete compliance of Mick, who would have to climb in through the sewage system. Believe or not, that last part was the one he had the most confidence in, and so it came as no surprise that his plan fell apart. One did not simply break into a federally funded maximum security prison without a hitch. As Len always preached, "Make the plan. Execute the plan. Expect the plan to go off the rails. Throw away the plan."

Len and Mick were on step four by the time they burst into the east wing, guns blazing, in Mick's case quite literally. Both had outfitted themselves with makeshift masks, including blue and red tinted goggles, respectively, to combat the glare of their guns, and classic, outlaw-style bandanas. Len tripled up, throwing on the hood of his blue Iron Heights hoodie.

"It feels good to be back!" Mick roared, his eyes alight with passion, as he scared away a couple guards with his heat gun, before proceeding to knock another out with its grip.

"Keep your head in the game, Heatwave," Len replied, freezing guards on the spot.

"We using codenames now? Alright, I got one for you—Cold," Mick kept guards at bay.

"Never did consider you a creative type. It needs a little more panache," Len replied.

He casually marched up the stairs to cell block F. Before executing the aforementioned plan, Leonard had hacked into Iron Heights' security system and located the Rogues, hence his directional confidence. After handling the remaining guards in the area, Mick caught up to him. Len tried one of their passes, but the door to block F remained locked.

"Lockdown protocols. Cute," Len stepped back and fired his cold gun, freezing the door.

Mick jumped forward to kick it in, shattering it into a thousand pieces, and then motioned Len onward. "After you, Cap'n."

"Now Captain Cold…that's not bad," Len noted, walking along the block as prisoners begged him to free them.

"Hmph," Mick grunted, "A bit campy for my taste."

"It's a campy world we live in," Len said, "A _new_ world."

"Still seems like the same ol' you," came a voice the two criminals recognized.

"James Jesse," Len greeted, looking into the eyes of his longtime comrade.

It appeared as if prison hadn't changed James all that much. He still offered his signature crooked smile, clean-cut blond hair, and casual demeanor. Behind him rested Jose Martinez, who'd actually changed quite a bit since Len had last seen him. The man looked like a body builder, while before he'd always been lanky. However, some things never changed. Jose was a man of few words.

"Jose, how's it been?" Len asked.

"Shit," Jose replied.

"We're about to change that," Len said, freezing then destroying the bars to their cell.

"Uh uh. I'm done with the Rogues," Jose growled, as James hesitated to step over the ice to Len.

"That's what Heatwave said, too. C'mon," Len urged.

"Heatwave's your pet, man. I ain't no bitch," Jose shot back.

"Check yourself, puta," Mick growled. "And, _Captain Cold,_ we gotta pick up the pace. I can hear round two gearing up outside the block."

"Suit yourself, Jose. Just remember to keep your mouth shut, or I'll find you and remind you what exactly happens to people who break the code. Let's go, James," Len grabbed the blond by his sleeve, tugging him along.

"Don't do this, James. You're not the man you were coming in," Jose said.

James looked frantically between Len and Jose as if his mind was about to overload with stress.

Suddenly, a new, obnoxious voice chimed in, "Don't be a pussy, cuz. Let's go!"

Axel Walker was leaning against his cell while PJ Jackson, his cellmate, just shook his head, annoyed. James reluctantly nodded, and the three Rogues hurried down the hall. Len broke down Axel and PJ's cell, but kept his gun trained on the wildcard.

"Give me one good reason not to leave you here to rot," Len growled.

Axel remained ice cold as he replied, "If you do, I'll ID you."

"I could kill you where you stand," Len shot back, only for Mick to push him along.

"I'm the last guy to be coachin' you to cool your head, but we gotta go," Mick said.

Len scanned the cell block entrance, and spotted guards with riot shields ready to storm the area. He proceeded to motion the unarmed Rogues—PJ, Axel, and James—along.

"Where's Sam?" Len asked as he blocked the pathway with a wall of ice.

"Visitor's center," Axel explained, smirking, "This is gonna be fun."

…

"…identities are currently unknown. One thing that's certain, today will have lasting ramifications on Central City and the way the state approaches incarceration…"

Barry threw his messenger bag over his shoulder, his costume stored inside. Work had to wait. His second job was calling. James Forrest tried to call out Barry over the chaos of the lab, but the forensics assistant played deaf. However, he didn't reach the exit to the station without confrontation. After noticing his abrupt attempted exit, Daniel West intercepted Barry.

"Barry—"

"Later, Dan. I have a doctor's appointment and I'm running late—" Barry stammered, trying to walk around the detective.

"—you going to Iron Heights?" Daniel finished.

Barry did his best to act normal, continuing out the door, "That's ridiculous. Why would I—?"

"I know your secret," Daniel whispered, causing Barry to freeze in place. "And I've been meaning to…I won't hold you up now, but we—we need to talk."

Barry didn't outright verbally respond, instead just nodding. Then, with a prison break to stop, he left the police station.

…

After freezing the wall to the visitor's center and allowing Mick to kick it in, Len activated a special feature in his cold gun: what he'd dubbed a cold field. It slowed the molecules within close proximity to absolute zero, outright stopping the onslaught of bullets that the security guards fired in their direction. As said projectiles tumbled helplessly to the ground, Heatwave sent the guards careening back to avoid his heat blast.

"Drop your guns, get on your knees, and put your hands behind your head," Len ordered, "Or…"

His voice faded, even as the other Rogues got to work claiming the incapacitated guards' firearms. No. She shouldn't be here. What the hell was Iris doing in Iron Heights?

"Everything alright, Cold?" Mick asked, dragging Sam Scudder onto his feet.

"Get off me," Sam growled, pushing himself free of Mick's grip. He then dusted himself off as Len forced himself to look away from Iris, who had since noted his prolonged stare.

"Don't bother thanking us or anything," Mick retorted, before looking back at Len.

"Let's go. We're done here," Len deepened his tenor to a guttural bass, praying Iris didn't recognize his voice earlier.

"What's wrong with your voice? You playin' Batman?" Axel teased after kicking a guard in the groin.

"I've met the real Batman. Your growl isn't half as impressive," came a playful voice from the entrance.

Mick, Axel, and Sam were all shoot first, ask questions later types. That approach proved ultimately fruitless, as the Flash dodged all of their fire and nabbed their weapons in a split second. He nearly stole Len's, too, but the self-proclaimed Captain Cold activated a cold field, slowing the hero down enough so he could knock him to the ground with a clean blow to the chest.

After freezing all but the Flash's head, Len said, "So you're the Flash? I'm not impressed."

* * *

 _A/N: Apologies for this being a day late. I'm on vacation and I lost track of time haha. The next issue should come out in a couple weeks._


	2. The Cost

**THE FLASH: RISE OF THE ROGUES**

Chapter 2: The Cost

Barry had gotten reckless since he'd defeated Savitar. His learning curve had been so steep that after learning the ropes he'd felt like a god. He'd done the impossible, so why shouldn't he be cocky? His answer stood right in front of him, pressing what looked like a gun out of a sci fi movie to his head.

This man had no super powers as far as Barry could tell. All he had was his fancy gun that somehow, someway could slow Barry down. Even still, he shouldn't have been a problem. Barry had gotten reckless, and now found himself trapped, for whatever reason unable to vibrate out of _ice_.

Was this how he would die? A victim of his own pride?

"So you're the Flash? I'm not impressed."

Barry finally allowed his mind to slow down enough that he could process what the criminal was saying. That was something, at least. His synapses were still firing off at super speed. Whatever this guy had done to him, it only affected Barry externally.

"Look in the mirror. Your supervillain costume consists of Ace Hardware goggles, an Old West bandana, and a stolen sweatshirt," Barry retorted, aware he wasn't going anywhere until this guy's cold blast wore off. He just had to stall for time. "Who are you, anyway? Dr. Ice?"

"Try Captain Cold," the man growled.

"And we ain't supervillains. We're Rogues," spat the other masked man, who picked up his glorified flamethrower from the ground.

"Could've fooled me with the colorful names and sci fi toys," Barry muttered.

"Let's just kill this stupid %^&* already," Axel Walker chimed in, grabbing another pistol off a guard.

"For once, kid," the hooded man tightened his trigger finger, "We agree on somethin'."

"So you're a murderer, too, Leonard?" Iris spoke up, causing the self-proclaimed Captain Cold to loosen his grip on the trigger.

Barry had noted Iris' presence the instant he'd stepped foot in the room, but hadn't assumed it would be an issue. Now, however, she was quickly proving to be his salvation. This guy—Captain Cold—was her boyfriend, Leonard Snart?

Before Cold could respond, Iris continued, "Don't bullshit me, Len. Take off your mask."

"Lady, shut the hell up!" Axel growled, raising his boot to curb stomp her.

"Don't touch her," Captain Cold ordered, aiming his cold gun at Axel.

The young hothead glared at the hooded criminal, but did as he was told. The other so-called Rogues all looked at their boss with incredulity. Barry felt the air around him begin to warm.

"Forget this. Let's get out of here," the bearded man remarked before heading toward the exit.

The man with the flamethrower held out his gun, stopping him. The bearded man looked as if he was about to slug the other Rogue, before Iris began.

"I get it now, Len. I understand why you kept all of this a secret," Iris said, "Y'know, being from southeastern, growing up with a dad who was in-and-out of prison, it's not an excuse to be a criminal. If anything, it should've scared you straight. What's your damage? Why are you doing this, Len?"

Barry could tell Iris was trying to—if nothing else—stall until more cops arrived. Frankly, this was the coldest move he'd ever seen her pull, because it was working. Captain Cold looked so conflicted that he couldn't read through her tactics. She was his blind spot. There was no doubt in Barry's mind that this man was Leonard Snart.

Cold hesitated, before he removed his hood, mask, and goggles, leaving them to hang on his neck. Even still, he managed to mask his emotions behind artificial apathy, but his voice, free of the urban accent he'd sported earlier, gave him away.

"This is who I am, Iris. I'm a criminal. I'm a Rogue." He sighed, and pressed his cold gun against Barry's head. "I'm my father's son."

That's when the tide of the battle changed. In a split second, with his powers returned, by vibrating his molecules at an obscene rate Barry freed himself from the ice. Iris had given him enough time to wait out the effects of Cold's gun. Now, the so-called Rogue was going to get his due…

Barry slugged Captain Cold across the jaw before the criminal could so much as register what had happened. Most of the other Rogues reacted instantaneously, making a break for it. Barry stopped them with a few clean punches, and then turned back to Cold, ready to break his gun, finishing the job. However, he found himself frozen in place, not by the lead Rogue's weapon, but by a sight that shook him to his core.

Captain Cold had wrapped his arm around Iris' neck and placed his cold gun against her temple. Barry nearly raced to her rescue, but stopped when he noticed the blue-tinted air around her.

"So you see it, huh? Good. That's my cold field. It's what slowed you down earlier, kept you trapped in the ice. It's also what'll keep you from reaching me before I can kill her," Captain Cold growled, his urban edge returned.

"Please, don't do anything reckless…just take a deep breath, okay? What do you want?" Barry asked.

Iris shivered, not because she was afraid or because the cold air was unbearable, but because she'd realized Len wasn't bluffing. He'd really kill her. The man she'd fallen for wasn't just a criminal…he was a monster.

"I know the second I leave the cold field, you'll take me down, so I don't expect my freedom," Cold spat, "I'm just asking for theirs."

He nodded over at the other Rogues, who had since risen to their feet. Barry knew he could take them down in a split second if need be. They knew it, too. Nobody so much as moved.

"I can't just let them go," Barry pointed out.

"You sure as hell can and will if you want her to make it out of here alive," Cold remarked.

"Len—" Iris protested.

"Shut up," he shot back, tightening his grip on her throat.

"Okay, okay, calm down. I'll let them go," Barry promised, hands in the air in surrender.

Cold looked over at the other Rogues. "Heatwave, get out the way you came in. And take care of 'em, will you? You're in charge now."

The pyromaniacal Rogue didn't so much as feel the need to speak, simply nodding in return. The bearded man rolled his eyes at Cold's comment, but allowed Heatwave to lead him out of the room, along with the other Rogues.

"We got a couple minutes to wait now. Hope you're the patient type, Flash," Cold said.

Obviously Barry was not, in fact, patient, and this situation made his speed-induced anxiety even worse. Still, he resisted the urge to act. Iris meant too much to him to do anything else.

Seconds passed. It felt like an eternity to Barry. Fear prevented him from thinking of a way out of this.

Iris, on the other hand, managed to clear her head. A lifetime of tragedy—her mother and brother's passing—had taught her how to handle powerful emotions. Betrayal wasn't anything new to her. Leonard was about to realize he'd chosen the wrong hostage.

She couldn't act immediately. That much was obvious. The cold field had to wear down just enough that she'd be able to move quickly. The difficult thing would be judging when that was…

Iris stopped shivering. She felt Len tense behind her. Didn't take a yearlong relationship to know what that meant.

Iris relaxed her grip on Len's arm and lashed out at his groin, causing him to recoil. His cold gun didn't go off. Weird…

The Flash acted instantly, knocking Len out with three quick punches. He'd feel that in the morning.

Before Iris could so much as blink, the Flash had sped out of the room. He returned just as quickly.

"The other Rogues…they're gone," he admitted, his voice now masked behind vibrating vocal chords. "Are you okay?"

Iris nodded, resisting the urge to interrogate him. Something about him seemed so familiar. She'd thought that after the first interview. Why the hell could she place Len's muffled voice beneath a bandana, but not the Flash's? She was confident she knew him, and yet something about him seemed off. Maybe she was just imagining things. She figured she wasn't the first person to mistake him for someone she knew.

"Any chance you'd stay for another interview?" Iris asked.

The Flash smiled. "C'mon now, Ms. West. I don't want people to get the idea that I'm playing favorites."

Then, with a salute in goodbye, he sped off, leaving the guards to apprehend the seemingly unconscious Leonard Snart.

"I wouldn't've done it, y'know that?" Len said, allowing the guards to pin his arms. "It was a bluff. I wouldn't've killed you."

Iris faced him, her emotions masked behind cold eyes, "Oh yeah?"

Len couldn't meet her gaze, his cheeks flushed. "It's against my code."

…

Barry's next stop: Infantino courthouse, where his father was being kept on remand, on-lock 24/7 with power dampening restraints, not that he needed them. The why? The Iron Heights breakout had shaken Barry. Iris had nearly died because she'd gotten involved with a supervillain. Barry had been careless, causing the situation in the first place, and he'd been unable to think straight because of his relationship with Iris. Doubt plagued his mind, not just about being a hero, but about his personal life.

"This is the sixth time in as many days that you've visited me, Barry. You have to stop coming here every day," Henry skipped pleasantries after he was seated across from his son. "You need to have a life outside of the CCPD and your costume."

"That's why I'm here, dad," Barry admitted. "I…just hear me out. I created Savitar. In the process, I got you imprisoned and sentenced Max to a life on the edge of losing control. Today, I nearly got Iris killed. Her boyfriend—her ex was nearly the one who killed her—"

"I'm going to stop you right there, son. You can't blame yourself for the actions of others. I made my own decisions, as did Max, and Iris, and certainly the man who threatened her. Yes, being the Flash will endanger the people closest to you—"

"—You just answered my question—"

"—Barry, _no._ You can't isolate yourself just because—"

 _"—Why not?"_ Barry wondered, silencing Henry. Before his father could speak up, he continued, "For all we know, Savitar's going to return, go back in time, and kill mom. We still haven't caught her killer. We don't—the world is so [i]crazy[/i] now. I may be the fastest man alive, but I can't save everyone. I can't predict what's going to happen, but maybe by focusing on being the Flash, by pulling away, I can prevent a few more people from being hurt—from dying."

"Barry…"

"No, I—I'm sorry. There's something I have to do," Barry said, rising to his feet. "I'll be back tomorrow."

He left without another word, ignoring his father's protests as he was led away by a guard.

…

"Patty, we need to talk."

The bespectacled scientist looked up from her station, and readjusted her glasses, giving Barry a confused, even concerned look.

"Alright. Can it wait till—"

"Now. Please," Barry urged, motioning out of the crime lab.

Patty led the way to the front of the police station and out the door. The second they reached fresh air, she said, "What's wrong?"

"We can't—I'm sorry, but we can't see each other," Barry said, unable to look at her.

"What? I—our date went great," Patty remarked.

"No, it—it did. I just have a lot going on right now, and I need some space. I'm really, really sorry." Barry had to fight like hell not to cry.

Patty considered what to say for a few moments, before ultimately going with, "Okay. That's fine."

She, too, was hurt, but she didn't show it. Swallowing her pain, she reentered the police station. Barry watched her go, then, with a sigh, leaned against the side of the building. He nearly went for a run, but was stopped by a newcomer, someone who'd been waiting for the right moment to spring onto the scene.

"Hey, Barry," Daniel greeted, "About earlier…"

"What do you want?" Barry asked dourly.

"I, uh…wow. I'd rehearsed this a thousand times in my head, but now I'm…" Daniel took a deep breath, then continued, "First off, I guess I want to thank you. What you did for the Gem Cities…what you're doing, it's incredible. I know it's probably weird for a cop to support vigilante justice, but—"

"I'm sorry, Dan, but if all you want is to fanboy then—"

"No! No," Dan said. "I…I want to help. I don't know if you've got a team already, or what, but I'd like to…you don't even have to let me join the squad. Just, if you need anything, let me know."

Barry managed a weak smile. "Thanks."

"And your secret's safe with me," Dan promised, making a cross over his heart with his hand.

Barry bit his lip and nodded in thanks. After realizing he wanted to be left alone, Dan walked back inside, giving him space.

The instant he was in the clear, Barry took off down the street, and focused on the feeling of the wind on his skin. For a moment, he felt at peace.

For a moment…

…

Iris went straight from Iron Heights to the office, and wrote for the rest of the evening. By closing time, she'd completed a first draft of her story. The current title: "My Boyfriend, The Supervillain."

Okay, so it could use some work.

Still, this was her break. Her real break. One she'd sure as hell earned. The best part? Carla agreed with her.

"Wow, this is…heavy stuff. The other Rogues could be fleshed out a bit more, your vocabulary could use some work, and the title's meh, but damn, West, you got a future here," Carla admitted, rereading the article.

"Thank you. So you'll publish it?" Iris asked.

"Not in tomorrow's paper, but you do some more research, some rewriting, and you bet it'll see the light of day," Carla assured her.

Iris tried to smile. She did, but this victory felt hollow. Len…

"Everything alright?" Carla asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," Iris lied. "I should get going."

Before she could leave Carla's office, the editor-in-chief stopped her. "Good job, West."

Iris nodded back, "Thanks, Carla."

As the rookie reporter left the office, her boss shouted after her, "It's Florez! For the love of God, it's…never mind."

…

Iris returned to an apartment in chaos. With the smoke alarm blaring, Wally rushed throughout the kitchen, trying to put out not one, not two, but three fires.

After spotting her, the tween blushed and shouted, "I was trying to make dinner! I know you had a rough day, and—"

He was cut off by the oven, which burst into flames.

Before leaping into action, Iris smiled.

Home sweet home.

…

 **Epilogue**

The Rogues' headquarters felt eerily empty to Mick, despite the fact that it was fuller than ever. Without Snart, everything seemed off. Mick hated to admit it, but he'd developed a soft spot for that arrogant POS.

"Before he went and got himself arrested, Snart left you guys gifts," Mick explained to the others as he led them over to a weapons cache near the back.

"Ooh, didn't realize Christmas was coming early this year," Axel joked, opening the cache to discover a number of odd-shaped guns and gadgets. "What the hell is this?"

"In his words: an upgrade," Mick said. "With this shit, we can free Len. Get the Rogues back together for real."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Sam continued, grabbing a green pistol embedded with four mirrors. "Snart should serve his time like we did. It's a new era, so the Rogues deserve a new—how was it he put it?—upgraded leader."

Mick raised his heat gun without a word. Sam met him with his own weapon. The two glared at one another, neither blinking.

"You two can play at badass, but I'm skipping town," PJ explained. "Ain't no place in a city with a superhero for me."

"Have it your way. Axel, James?" Sam said, eyes still on Mick.

"Psh. It's like you said. It's a new era. The Rogues are finished." Axel grinned. "But I'm just getting started."

The teen grabbed a domino mask out of the cache, then flipped the others off as he left. "So long, suckers."

"James…?" Sam pushed, only to spot that the other blond had disappeared out of the corner of his eye. "Where the f—"

With Sam distracted, Mick smacked him across the face, knocking him out. He then looked up, discovering the other Rogues had either left, or were on their way out of the building. A scowl ghosted over his lips, and he looked down at his heat gun.

"Guess that's it, then. The end of the Rogues."

* * *

 _Sorry this is late! Had some health issues and school's been nuts. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

 _boysa boysa: Really glad you like Barry. He's obviously the heart of the story, so it's great to hear he's connecting with readers._

 _jnuuuk: Here it is! Thanks for your interest! :)_

 _theygotT: I'm back! :)_


	3. Mirror, Mirror

**THE FLASH: RISE OF THE ROGUES**

Chapter 3: Mirror, Mirror

Looking good had always been one of Sam Scudder's top priorities. Even in prison, he'd groomed his beard and hair to perfection, worked out extensively, and protected his face during the occasional yard brawl, securing his status as a would-be, should-be model. Lisa had always called him a Renaissance man. By that, she'd meant he looked like he'd been carved out of marble.

Or wait, was it Sam who'd come up with that nickname?

"Who cares?" Sam muttered under his breath, fixing his hair with the aid of his phone's camera.

What was it he'd been thinking about? Right. His looks. Sam had to look good, now more than ever. After all, he wasn't waiting in the bleachers of a practice ice rink for just anybody. He hadn't bought golden roses for just anyone. Sam had his eyes on his fiancé, the love of his life, the only person he believed looked more divine than him…

"Lisa—go, baby, go!" cheered a chubby middle-aged man from the edge of the rink.

Lisa's coach, Mark Rector. Sam remembered him. Like every other man Lisa worked with (or every other man in ice skating, for that matter, Sam thought), he was gay, meaning he wasn't a threat.

"That's it! Just like we practiced!" Mark urged.

Sam leaned back in his seat, eyes glued to Lisa. She twirled once, twice, three times, took a leap of faith, leaned back—ohmigod she's going to—

WHAM.

Lisa smacked her shoulder against the ice, falling most of the way through the flip. Sam immediately got to his feet, ready to rush to her aide, only to have to force himself back. He was wanted, after all. Moreover, Lisa had support.

Mark ran to her side. Sam couldn't make out what the two said, but Lisa appeared to be fine. If anything, her pride was more bruised than her shoulder. Mark helped Lisa back up onto her feet, motioning her over to the exit. They were done for the day. Sam stepped forward, ready to intercept her when it happened.

Lisa kissed Mark. On the lips. And he returned it in kind.

Sam's mouth fell open as he struggled to muster the words. Mark Rector's gay, right? Is kissing gay guys a thing now? What the f…?

"I'll see you later, babe. Love you," Lisa shouted back at Mark as she began to head in Sam's direction.

His heart racing, Sam threw on his coat's hood, ruffling his perfectly moussed hair, and hurried out of the bleachers before Lisa could catch him.

…

Water hid Sam's tears poorly. Maybe that was because he had nobody to hide them from in a motel bathroom. Maybe that was because Sam couldn't hide them from himself.

Lisa hadn't been wearing the ring. Sam hadn't registered that until now, but he hadn't seen her engagement ring on her finger. Wait, she'd been practicing, right? She wouldn't wear it during practice…

Sam noticed the golden roses out of the corner of his eye. Overcome with grief and rage, he screamed, lashing out at the flowers. He stomped them with his naked feet once, twice, three times before he turned his attention to the cheap shower head, which he ripped off its piping. Water spewed everywhere. He didn't mind.

Soaking wet, Sam looked at the stupid toy gun Len had left him. Another Snart who'd betrayed him, leaving him to rot in jail for a year. Sam took the weapon in his hand, then looked up at the bathroom mirror. Disgusted by the sight before him, he threw the gun into his reflection, shattering the glass and the gadget.

The whole room noiselessly imploded in an instant.

…

When the motel owner left his office to check on the source of the noise complaints, he found nothing in the near-literal sense. It was as if some enormous monster had taken a bite out of his motel, and left not so much as a drop of blood. There were no human remains, no wooden planks, or broken pipes. All that had survived were pieces of shattered glass, reflecting the pink-streaked sunset.

…

 **STAR Labs**

Elias' hand hovered over a letter sent from STAR Labs' headquarters in Metropolis, then his cup of coffee. _Sixth_ cup of coffee. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night. In fact, he'd spent his every waking hour on the web, not in search of escape, but opportunities. This letter was the print confirmation that—

"Hey, Dr. Elias," came Barry's voice from right behind him, "Is Chess on lunch break?"

Elias resisted the urge to scold the speedster for the umpteenth time for arriving without warning. As it turned out, his brief stint with Batman had cemented some of Barry's more obnoxious habits.

"Yes, Barry," Elias replied, shoving the letter into a desk drawer, "Just as you should be."

"I ate already. Thought I'd stop by, say hi," Barry explained. "I have a couple things I want to talk about with the team. Something I've been considering for a while…"

"Oh? Do tell," Elias asked, feigning interest so that the attention deficit cop-turned-hero wouldn't spot…

"What's with the boxes?" Barry asked, pointing to a stack of aforementioned packaging items. "You moving labs?"

Elias had only one way out now, a route he was all too familiar with…he had to act like a jerk.

"It doesn't concern you. In fact, I'd prefer you leave me to work in peace. Unlike the others, I've never been a real part of 'Team Flash,'" Elias spoke those two words with the utmost condescension.

"Yeah…okay, my bad," Barry apologized, heading toward the exit. Before leaving, however, he stopped to say, "Y'know, if TV shows and comic books have taught me anything, behind every insult there's pathos, and behind every jerk scientist there's a heart of gold."

"Or a villain awaiting his origin story," Elias retorted.

Barry shrugged, "Touché. I'll see you around, Dr. Elias."

In a flash of light, Barry left STAR Labs. Elias' gaze lingered upon where the young man had stood just seconds before, then turned back to his desk. With a sigh, he retrieved and opened the letter from STAR Labs Metropolis. Eyes darkened, Elias began to read it silently, all too aware of what to expect…

"Darwin Elias, we're sorry to inform you that your contract with the Science and Technology Advanced Research Laboratories (STAR Labs) has been terminated effective…"

…

Gambi Fashion had become known throughout the Gem Cities as the premium mom-and-pop shop for your finer clothing needs. With quality products, speedy delivery, and even better prices, the owner, Paul Gambi, had created a foothold in an industry dominated by corporations. Of course, it certainly didn't hurt that he had connections with, shall we say, seedier organizations. His partnerships with the various Gem City mafias had kept him afloat on more than one occasion.

So it was that Paul had found himself completing a fitting order of suits for new recruits into the resident Italian gang, the Monteleones, on this fine evening. After finishing the sleeves on one jacket, Paul checked the clock for the time. 5:04 PM. He had a late night ahead of him. Better to close early to avoid additional projects.

As Paul approached the front door to lock it, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Freezing, Paul scanned the area, but found nothing except empty suits and a vanity mirror.

"Need a vacation…" Paul grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

After locking the door, he returned to his desk, only to see movement in the same place again. Oddly enough, he'd noticed it in the mirror. Paul checked behind him, but no one was there. He looked deeply into the mirror, only to find nothing but his reflection in its gaze. Sighing, Paul turned back to his desk—

-And walked right into Sam Scudder, in the flesh.

"Long time no see, Paul," Sam greeted, leaning casually against the desk, ruffling his fresh-pressed blue suit.

"Jesus, Sammy—"

"Y'know I always liked you, right? I mean, you're like a one-man suit factory, fast as a speeding bullet. Liable to make a man think you've got some oh-so secret [i]gifts[/i]. And the quality! Just look at this." Sam fingered the flaps of his suit jacket. "This is one of yours, and whoo boy. Speaks for itself."

"Why are you here?" Paul asked, his voice steady.

"I want you to make me a new suit by midnight," Sam explained.

"And why the hell would I—"

Just like that, Sam disappeared in a flash of light. Paul screamed in shock, but before he could get to looking for the other man, Sam called from behind him, "Turn around, buddy."

Paul did as he was told, only to discover Sam's reflection in the mirror. He swiveled around, but Sam was nowhere to be found in the shop, and yet…

"Cool, right? I've got one of those oh-so secret gifts I was talking about. We're talking," Sam emphasized every word with a step, emerging from the mirror into the physical world. "Top-of-the-line meta shit."

Paul dry swallowed, the unspoken threat abundantly clear. Even his allies in the mob couldn't stand up to a metahuman. He had no choice.

"So you—you want it like the one you're wearing?" Paul stammered.

A pearly grin crept over Sam's lips as he responded, "No, I was thinking of trying something different…something a little _flashier_."

…

Parked in front of St. Matthew's School for the Gifted, Elias had begun to nod off when someone began to knock loudly on the passenger door of his Prius. Elias unlocked the car and greeted his daughter, a lanky seventeen-year-old with a bob cut, with all the optimism he could manage, "Hey, Lindsay. How was school, sweetie?"

"I've got bad news," Lindsay blurted.

Elias' heart sank. "What's wrong?"

"Metropolis University emailed me today, and I…" Lindsay's eyes flooded with tears. "They rejected my application."

Elias sighed, and put his arm around his daughter, allowing her to lay her head down on his shoulder. "That's…it's okay. It's their loss. You're worth—"

"An acceptance letter," Lindsay's head perked up, a mischievous smile lingering on her lips. There wasn't so much as a tear in her puffy eyes. "And, admittedly, a crap financial aid package."

"You…that was a prank?" Elias clarified.

Lindsay nodded, eyes alight with glee and pride. Elias should have probably been at least a little angry, but he felt only joy. His daughter had been accepted into Metro U, her first choice, which made the news he'd received last night a little easier to swallow.

"We're gonna be able to pay for it, right? Without the scholarship?" Lindsay wondered.

Elias felt as if the car had closed in around him. He struggled to breathe for a moment.

"Dad? Daddy? I'm sorry. It was just a practical joke—"

"No, it's fine. I'm fine," Elias managed. "Don't worry about Metro U. We'll manage."

He hoped.

…

Every Wednesday night, one of Central City's foremost gangs brought together the entire family for a dinner in the boss's luxurious lakeside home on the outskirts of the city. Running well past midnight time and again, it was a joyous, playful occasion—read: party—meant to build unity amidst a void of 'business talk.' At least, that was usually the case. This particular night, however…

"—and Johnny says, 'let there be light,' and the whole freaking car explodes!" told the head honcho, the boss man himself, "Blackjack" Vincent, drawing a cacophony of laughter from those seated near him. "Best part is, the sergeant, he shits himself. I'm not kidding—"

"—'He shits himself?' Last time I heard that story, it was a lawnmower, and a beatcop who pissed himself. Can't keep the story straight, Vinny?" came a voice from the back of the room.

All eyes focused in on the speaker. Who the hell had the balls to speak to the boss like that?

Sam Scudder, that's who. He was dressed in a lightly armored orange and green costume with a see-through glass plated mask. Diamonds littered his green-gloved hands.

"Sammy…is that you?" Vincent Scudder wondered, his anger diminishing only slightly.

"The one and only, _bro_ ," Sam noted, bowing.

"So the prodigal brother returns…in a homo costume, no less," Vincent rose to his feet. Slowly, his gold heeled shoes tapping against the wooden floors, he approached Sam. "I heard you escaped Iron Heights. Your time in the slammer make you reconsider things? You back to rejoin the family?"

Vincent extended his hand to Sam, palm down, exposing his gaudy diamond ring. The sentiment was clear. 'Kiss it, and take your place at my side.' Sam just eyed his brother with the utmost contempt.

"I'm back," Sam spoke smoothly, like a politician or a marketer, "To take it over."

Vincent burst out laughing, which didn't so much as faze his younger brother. "You think—let me get this straight—you think you're gonna be the boss? My baby brother, leading this family?"

He looked over at his lieutenants, all of whom began to laugh as well. Sam rolled his eyes. In a split second, he grabbed his brother by the collar and smashed his head against the windowsill, knocking him out. Every armed man and woman in the room drew their guns. Just like that, Sam disappeared in a flash of light.

"What the hell…?" the consigliare muttered.

"I should have had control from the start," came Sam's voice from behind him. The consigliare swiveled around and fired, only to discover he'd broken but a mirror.

"I'm smarter, stronger, and more charismatic than my brother," echoed Sam's voice.

Three mobsters looked for the source, but couldn't find it.

"The only reason he took over after dad died was because he was the eldest. The old ways should have been buried with my father," Sam continued.

"Where the hell are you?!" roared the consigliare.

"Far away…" Sam whispered into the consigliare's ear, "…yet never closer."

The Consigliare unloaded upon Sam, but the bullets had no effect. They passed through him like he wasn't there…like he was made of light.

"It's an illusion, Johnny, courtesy of my new gifts," Sam's voice came from a dozen places at once, his head appearing in every reflective surface around the room. Some of the mobsters dropped their firearms. Others screamed. "In more ways than ever before, I am superior to my brother. I left after my father's death to find a family. What I didn't realize until recently is my family had been right here waiting for me to take control the entire time…"

Sam appeared beside his brother's unconscious form, arms out like a prophet. "From this day forward, I'm your boss. The Scudder Gang is mine."

Sam extended his right hand, just as his brother had done minutes ago, "Kiss my hand, all of you."

The moment lingered, but Sam remained patient. Finally, Johnny, the consigliare, stepped forward, kneeled down, and kissed Sam's diamond-encrusted hand. One after another, the other mobsters did the same.

"This is the dawn of a new era for the Scudder Gang, and we'll start it," Sam grinned, "By eliminating our city's greatest pest…"

…

The following day, at STAR Labs, Gehenna walked in with a tray full of CC Jitters' very best, hoping to surprise the others with her sudden return (and treats). However, before she could so much as open her mouth to announce her arrival, she overheard Elias' strained voice coming from his office.

"…I know it seems sudden, but I've decided—yes, education is where my heart lies. Exactly."

Odd. Elias had bemoaned the American education system on more than one occasion. Gehenna pressed her ear against the door to his office.

Elias continued, "Yes. I must remind you that I'm one of the most renowned names in meta and astrophysics. I was here when the Flash began to fight crime, and I—I know him personally. Hiring me would be a big win…yes, I'm finished with STAR Labs—"

Gehenna's eyes widened and she had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from audibly reacting to that statement. Elias—

"Gen! You're back!" came Chester's voice from the entrance.

Suddenly, there was naught but silence from Elias' office. Gehenna hurried away from his door, forcing a smile.

"Surprise! I brought coffee," Gehenna said.

"I don't drink coffee. And what were you doing…?"

"I mean, a super mocha pumpkin spice vanilla latte. For you. And can we talk about this—" Gehenna cut herself off when Elias emerged from his office, no longer on the phone. "Hey, Dr. Elias. Surprise. I'm back early."

Elias looked lost in thought. He didn't so much as smile at Gehenna. Had he realized she'd been listening in on his conversation? Moreover, what the hell had he been talking about?

Before the tension could build considerably, an alert sounded from the main computer system. Chess rushed over to check it, eyes suddenly alight with excitement as he sipped his super mocha pumpkin spice vanilla latte.

"Ooh, we got a classic. Robbery at the BoA on 50th. Somebody call the Fastest Man Alive!"

…

Barry had learned from his run-in with Captain Cold that stopping to crack wise could have nasty ramifications, so this time he was all-business all the time. Speeding into the bank, he counted out thirteen masked mobsters and a gaudily dressed supervillain in orange and green leading the charge. While he had to slow down to prevent the potential crippling or death of the robbers, he still managed to knock out ten of them before any of the others could react. It just so happened that that reaction time was enough for the leader to completely disappear.

After knocking out the other mobsters, Barry slowed to a halt, looking around the bank. "Is everyone alright?"

A couple civilians nodded. A child stood up and pointed up at the ceiling. "Behind you!"

Before Barry could register what he'd said, he found himself slugged by the costumed supervillain. Barry sped up, but barely managed to spot the villain before he traveled through the air into the stained glass roof in a form of pure light.

"Man, you are so predictable. Knew one bank robbery was all it'd take to make you come running," the villain gloated.

"So you're a metahuman," Barry realized, motioning to the civilians to leave. They all rushed out in a panic.

"Just like you, Flash," echoed the villain's voice. "As fast as light."

"Mirror Master," came Chester's voice over the comms. "I'm calling this dude Mirror Master."

Said villain came at the Flash faster than he could react, knocking him to the ground with a clean punch. He then grabbed one of the sacks of money, only to give the Flash the necessary time to recover and slug him, shattering his mask. However, before the speedster could apprehend him, Mirror Master had fled into the confines of the shard remnants of his mask with the money in tow.

"You've met your match. Central City's my town now," Mirror Master said.

The Flash stepped on the glass, breaking it up further. However, the villain remained unharmed, his head appearing in each of the tiny pieces.

"You can't harm me while I'm in my mirror dimension. In fact, I've got a theory…"

In a split second, Mirror Master emerged from the glass and grabbed the Flash. Before anything else could be done, he pulled the speedster into the mirror dimension with him, where he freed him.

The mirror dimension was a place of pure light and imagery, not unlike the Speed Force, only littered with—surprise—mirrors that revealed numerous locations. From this dimension, Sam could feasibly access nearly anywhere in the world through reflective surfaces. Admittedly, the sheer number of options made it difficult to find any one place in particular, but that threat alone still made Barry nearly shudder with fear.

Recognizing Sam's face from the breakout, Barry noted, "You're one of the Rogues."

"An ex-Rogue, actually. Now the foremost mafia boss in Central City, soon to be the _only_ one. Organized crime—this entire city, for that matter—will be mine," Mirror Master replied.

"Like hell," Barry grunted, speeding forward.

The villain disappeared into one of the mirrors before Barry could touch him. He moved from one to the next, forcing Barry to constantly divert his gaze to locate him.

"I wonder…what would happen if I left you here alone?" Mirror Master disappeared.

His throat clenching with anxiety, Barry tried to speed out of the mirror dimension back into the bank through one of the mirrors, but ended up just shattering it. Back in the bank, its glass ceiling shattered into a million pieces.

Suddenly, Mirror Master appeared back in the dimension, cackling. "Ooh, that's fun. So long, Fla—"

Barry grabbed the villain before he could finish gloating and pinned him against the (nonexistent) floor. Mirror Master tried to leave through a mirror, but ended up dragging Barry along with him into the Scudder Mansion. The Scarlet Speedster bloodied his nose, before he managed to push himself away, disappearing into a mirror.

"Shouldn't talk so much," Barry uttered. "I'm faster than you."

"Yeah, no shit," Mirror Master muttered.

He nonetheless came at the Flash again, only for the speedster to slug him across the jaw. The villain started to ping pong across reflective surfaces, but the Flash caught him twice, nearly knocking him out in the process. Mirror Master roared with frustration, hiding in a mirror.

"You can't beat me," the Flash warned. "But you can try."

"And get arrested? Again? Like hell," Mirror Master growled, trying and failing to hide the panic in his voice. "I'll be back. And next time…you won't know what hit you."

Just like that, the Mirror Master was gone, disappeared from any of the reflective surfaces in the mansion.

Barry sped around the mansion, discovering numerous mobsters on their way to his previous location to check the source of the ruckus. Better yet, he found cocaine in the basement. Slowing to a halt, Barry activated his comms.

"Hey, Chester, send the CCPD to my location. It's the Scudder Gang's HQ. Drugs on the scene. Tell them it's low maintenance. I'm about to clear out potential threats," Barry said.

"Aye aye, Captain," Chester agreed.

And just as he said he would, Barry knocked out each of the mobsters, broke their firearms, and left the scene as sirens neared.

So, he hadn't managed to catch Mirror Master, but he'd successfully crippled an entire gang. He'd had worse days on the job.

…

"Congrats, Barry, on defeating your third supervillain," Chess said upon his arrival to STAR Labs.

Barry removed his cowl and brushed the comment off, "We still have to find Mirror Master and the other Rogues, figure out a way to take them down. I'm willing to bet he wasn't the only one who's got powers now."

"A problem for another day," Elias said, patting Barry on the back.

"Yeah, we have something else to deal with right now," Gehenna said, eyeing Elias.

"What's wrong?" Elias wondered, as the others gave her inquisitive looks.

"Dude, is someone a mole? Oh crap. Is it me?" Chess wondered, feeling himself for faults.

"Dr. Elias, would you mind explaining why you're 'finished with STAR Labs?'" Gehenna urged.

"What? I'm not—" Elias quieted upon her continued pressuring gaze. "I…I've been fired."

"What?" Barry exclaimed, as the others looked on in shock. "We—is there anything we can do?"

"No, Barry, although I appreciate the sentiment. Leonard Snart's infiltration and latter theft of STAR Labs was the last straw. The board is convinced that I'm ill-suited to the culture here, let alone a director's position. I'm terminated effective tomorrow," Elias explained.

"But they—they can't just fire you? I mean, they've gotta at least keep you on in another position," Chess argued.

"That's a naïve perspective."

"How the hell didn't we know about this?" Gehenna wondered.

"It appears that the board wants to make my departure a quiet one, to prevent the PR nightmare that would ensue otherwise," Elias conjected.

"Dr. Elias, we'll reach out to Metropolis. We'll—"

"Don't…don't worry about me. I've already secured a teaching position at Metropolis University, and in turn a hefty scholarship for my daughter, who got accepted early to their metaphysics program," Elias assured them. "It's for the best, I imagine. I've never been much of a leader, and I certainly have no place on Team Flash."

"That's not true," Barry protested.

"But isn't it? When have I offered anything of use?" Elias argued. "Regardless, I—I need to finish packing."

He turned away, even as the others tried to stop him, and walked over to his office, locking the door after him. Barry and Gehenna exchanged a worried look, only for Chester lose himself in thought. After a moment, he perked up.

"Guys, I've got an idea…"

…

Back in a Scudder warehouse, Sam watched the news of his gang's collapse on a TV.

"Idiot…I'm an idiot," Sam growled, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "I panicked, took him right to our home…RRAAHHH!"

Sam lashed out, upturning a table. Seething with rage, his gaze lingered on the screen, on a blurry image of the Flash speeding down Central City.

"I'll end you, Flash. I swear to God I will. And if the Family can't do it…" Sam tightened his hands into fists, gritting his teeth. "Then the Rogues will. _My_ Rogues will."

…

Needless to say, Elias wasn't looking forward to his last day at STAR Labs. Walking past the secretary, the sense of impending doom that he felt only grew that much stronger.

"Morning, Sara," Elias greeted glumly.

"Good morning, sir," she replied, "Is everything alright?"

"Just peachy," Elias lied, swiping his keycard to get into the back labs.

He passed the one-time home to Arthur Park, their world-renowned green energy expert. He passed the mechanical engineering labs where Leonard Snart had worked and, in turn, stolen his own work. Lastly, he passed the near-abandoned astrophysics laboratory, complete with a telescope of epic proportions and a couple of scientist hard at work on who-knows-what. Elias had as good as grown up there. It was where he'd started as an intern, where he'd grown into a man and a proper scientist, and where he ultimately met his wife well before their split. That lab was where Elias had developed his infamous ego. It was where he'd found himself.

Taking a moment to rest his hand on the glass over the telescope, Elias felt like a child again, an outsider looking in, gazing at his betters engaging in the research of scientific revolutions. With a sigh, he continued down the hall to the main lab, his lab, and walked through its automatic entrance.

"SURPRISE!"

Barry, Gehenna, and Chess all stood around the lab, halfway prepared for a party. Some streamers were thrown about. Balloons hung around the many desks, and Gehenna stood atop a ladder, nearly finished putting up a banner that read: "Goodbye, David! We'll miss you!"

"Sorry, we weren't expecting you for another half hour," Gehenna admitted, taping the last corner of the banner.

"Wanted as much time in the lab as possible before…" Elias' voice faded off, then he motioned to the banner, "Who's David?"

Chess interjected, "You are! I mean, your name's actually Darwin, but we couldn't find a Darwin, so we, uh—"

"It's the best we could come up with on short notice," Barry explained. He reached behind the computers, revealing a cookie cake. "I brought cake."

"Cookie cake…how'd you know…?" Elias mumbled, awe struck by their kindness.

"Chess told me it was your favorite," Barry admitted, placing it on a table.

"As is Queen," Chess hit a button on a remote, and Bohemian Rhapsody began to play over the loudspeakers. "We're gonna miss you, Dr. Elias."

Gehenna continued, "You're our mentor, and I know we fought—[i]a lot[/i], but—well, we appreciate everything you've done for us. All of us. And you may not realize it, but you've influenced all of our lives for the better."

"You were my hero growing up," Barry admitted, "Still are. And hey, once a member of Team Flash—"

"—Always a member of Team Flash," Chess finished.

Elias choked up, and his eyes flooded with tears. "I told myself I wasn't going to cry…"

"Looks like somebody needs a group hug!" Chess exclaimed, embracing his boss.

"No, Chester—"

"If you insist, Dr. Elias, I guess I'll hug you," Barry teased, joining in.

"Please, I'm begging you—"

"Can you feel the love tonight," Gehenna hummed, the last to hug Elias.

"You just made it weird," Chess noted.

"Super weird," Barry agreed.

"What they said," Elias admitted… _smiling._

And so it was that Team Flash lost their second member…but he would not be the last one to go. No, their collapse was far from complete.

* * *

 _That's all for this chapter! Hope you enjoyed it! Please drop a review and tell me what you think._


	4. Rogue Elements

**THE FLASH: RISE OF THE ROGUES**

Chapter 4: Rise of the Rogues

The blood of her brother-in-arms crept beneath her boots. She could not move, could not speak, could not imagine how she was back in the desert. Thomas was dead, blown to pieces by a suicide bomber. She'd seen the child before he could reach Thomas. She'd known what the bulge was beneath his clothes. But she froze. Gehenna always froze.

The desert wind grew hot, humid. Humid…? Gehenna ducked into an alleyway, her breath coming in rapid shots.

 _CRACKOOM! CRACKOOM! CRACKOOM!_

The gunfire rang like thunder…

Gehenna awoke in her bed drenched in sweat, a storm roaring outside. She tried to calm herself, but couldn't escape the sight of the blood. Something creaked. She screamed. It was just the apartment above her, she thought. She was alone.

Alone with the nightmares.

Gehenna reached for her phone, trying to drown her fears in its glow. An email caught her off guard. It drowned out the thought of blood, but her anxiety remained.

"Oh my God…"

…

"Gods walk among us," said his brother. "And all you can think about is revenge. Revenge against some old #$%^& who were doing their job."

Mark Mardon scowled and sat back on his hard-as-wood cot, which creaked under his weight. Solitary confinement had it worse than the rest of the prison. For the "dangerous folk," they were sure as hell easily forgotten.

"The Heights are hell, Clyde. West, Allen, they ruined our lives. They deserve what's coming," Mark rebutted.

"We ain't shit. Normal folk like us, we can't survive out there no more," Clyde retorted.

"Don't mean we should give up on getting even," Mark argued.

"The Flash'll send you right back here before you can touch a hair on either cops' heads. And that's assuming you can get out in the first place," Clyde said.

"Shut up. _Shut the hell up_. I call the shots. I always have," Mark growled. He locked eyes with his brother: cloudy gray against cloudy gray.

Clyde looked away, face flushed. "You're right. My B, bro. You're the oldest. You call the shots."

Mark anxiously ran a hand along his oily black ponytail, which was slung over his right shoulder. It hadn't been cut in ages. He hated it, but he didn't trust any of the sketchy assholes in the Heights to come near him with a razor, and he sure as hell wasn't good with one. Shaky hands. Always been bad news. That's why Clyde was the thief. Mark was the muscle, and built like it.

"We need a plan," Mark muttered.

"You are one creepy mother, you know that?" This voice was new, male. Weirder, it sounded garbled, as if it was coming through water.

Mark glanced around the room, but spotted only his brother.

"Down here," came the voice again…from the toilet.

Mark stood up and leaned over the toilet's edge. Was he crazy? Was he imagining…?

There was a face in the toilet. Some glass-masked freak in a costume. Mark rubbed his eyes, but the face didn't disappear.

"Pretty sure you are crazy, but I'm most definitely here. Sam Scudder. People are calling me Mirror Master." The costumed nutjob emerged from the water's reflection, stepping into the cell surrounded by a faint white glow. "Not my cleanest entrance, but my options were limited."

"Clyde, you seeing him too?" Mark wondered.

"Uh huh," drawled his brother.

"Who are you talking to?" Sam asked, looking around the room. "I mean, I heard you were crazy, but damn…full-blown schizo. Didn't seen that coming."

"I ain't crazy. My brother—"

"Is with you in solitary confinement?" Sam retorted.

Anger roiled Mark's insides. His brother was standing in the corner. Musty brown hair. Tan, freckled skin. Gray eyes. That was Clyde. Clyde was here. They'd put him—

"Somebody didn't take his meds," Sam teased. "Your brother is dead. Rumor is you killed him. Shank right in the gut. That's why you ended up here."

"I didn't—I wouldn't—" Mark's head had begun to spin. Confusion and fear mixed with the anger, swirling, swirling, swirling…

"Take it easy, man," Sam grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him upright. "Forget all that shit. I'm here to break you out. Let's get going before—"

"What? Why?" Mark mumbled, falling back onto his cot. "I didn't kill Clyde. I wouldn't—why are you here for me?"

Sam's one-word response came with a smile: "Revenge."

For a few moments, Mark's head cleared.

That was enough.

…

Gehenna arrived at STAR Labs running on three hours of sleep and a whole lot of coffee. She expected—even hoped—for an hour or two to herself to meditate and calm her anxieties. Instead, at the whopping time of 6:32 AM, she discovered the lights were on in Elias' office. Afraid of an intruder, Gehenna produced a bottle of pepper spray from her purse and crept toward the door. She slammed it open, ready to strike, only to discover Chester's terrified mug.

"HOLY—" he began, before recognizing Gehenna, "What in the fresh hell, Gen?"

Gehenna rubbed at her eyes. "I thought you were…"

"Dr. Elias' ghost?" Chess quickly added, "Not that he's dead. He isn't, right?"

"An intruder," Gehenna clarified.

"Doi." Chess nodded. "No, I've, uh—been sleeping here sometimes. First Max then…it just feels wrong, y'know?"

"Yeah," Gehenna's thoughts wandered back to the email she'd received. "I understand."

Chess stood up and motioned her out of the room. "Let's get out of here. Feels like it's actually haunted."

Gehenna led the way out without a word. She began to tremor as he shut the door to Elias' office after them, panic rising, rising…

"Iwasofferedthedirectorjob," Gehenna blurted the instant the door clicked shut.

"Uh…slow down, Flash," Chess muttered.

Gehenna collapsed back into a swivel chair and stared at the floor. "I was offered the branch director job." She paused. "Elias' job."

"That's awesome! Congrats!" Chess exclaimed, suddenly energized. After an awkward moment passed, he said, "That's a good thing, right?"

Gehenna shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, yeah, for my career, I guess, it is. Better pay. Looks good on a resume, but…"

"You feel guilty replacing Dr. Elias?" Chess said.

"More than that, I just feel…" She contorted her face into a mask of disgust and fear. "I'm barely 30 years old. I've only worked here for a couple years. It feels unearned, and…then there's the matter of my—my health."

Chess blanched. "What's wrong?"

"My mental health, Chess," Gehenna clarified. "My anxiety. After my tours, I've…we've talked about this."

"Your PTSD? Who cares?" Chess said. Gehenna looked up at him blankly, causing him to blush. "I mean, obviously it's important. Your feelings are—I just meant, it hasn't stopped you yet. Why should it now? You're probably the most talented and intelligent person I've ever met, and that's saying something. I know myself."

Gehenna chuckled lightly. "Thanks."

"No, for real." He leaned against the desk next to her and offered a toothy smile. "Whatever…difficulties you have, they won't stop you. My Asperger's, people look down on it, on me, I know. Been called retarded more times than I can count, but look where I ended up—at the age of 21, no less. Who looks retarded now, huh…? Um, that was insensitive and—I just meant—"

"You're a prodigy, Chess. You're the heart of Team Flash. What do I even contribute—?"

"OK, come on now. You sound like Dr. Elias. Let's not beat the same dead horse," Chess said. "You are a friggin' stud, Gen. Hell, you've gone through crap I can't even imagine. Stuff that would make Barry wet his pants. Let's be real here—you're a hero."

Gen hugged him. The sudden movement caught Chess off-guard, and he was afraid she was about to storm off. After a moment, he relaxed, and returned the embrace in kind.

Gen pulled back. "Thank you."

Chess blushed. "No problemo…just…take the job, yeah? We could all use a win."

Gen's smile faded slightly. "I'll…I'll definitely think about it."

For now, that would have to be enough.

…

Given all that had happened in the last few months, one might expect Barry's fellow police scientists to have warmed up to him, but that wasn't the case at all. After his battle with Savitar, he'd tried to grab lunch with a few of his coworkers, but they always ignored him. During his brief tenure dating Patty, she'd explained why. His constant ducking out in times of crisis had far from lent him sympathy with his coworkers, even after all that had happened with his father. The fact that despite his numerous absences he turned in more evidence tests and analyses than just about anyone else furthered their resentment of him.

Barry hated it. He was a people's person, but he swallowed his frustrations. He was cutting off ties to focus on his work as the Flash. Developing new friendships would be counterintuitive. He still had to break the news to Team Flash, but it had proven more difficult than expected, particularly given Elias' recent departure.

And then there was the matter of Daniel…

Who was—perhaps for the thousandth time—pestering Barry at his work station.

"You know there's this new Mexican joint that opened on the corner—Papa Tio's or something like that," Daniel said, leaning against Barry's desk. He accidentally nudged it, rocking a beaker filled with hydrochloric acid, and Barry had to move at superspeed to prevent it from splashing across the table.

"Dan…" Barry glanced around.

"Sorry, man," Dan looked over his shoulder. "You're good. Nobody noticed. So…Papa Tio's?"

"Tio means 'uncle' in Spanish," Barry stated, eyes on the report before him.

"And…?"

"So Papa Tio doesn't make any sense. It's literally Father Uncle," Barry explained.

"I don't know, maybe it's a kink thing," Daniel said. "Anyway, not the point. Take a break. Let's get lunch. Not like you don't cut work anyway."

Barry sighed and faced Daniel, who began to speak again, "Sorry, that was rude. I just—"

"I'm flattered that you're now interested in becoming my best friend, but I have work to do," Barry said.

Daniel tried to hide his hurt behind a mask of casual confidence, but Barry could read behind his smirk. Guilt ghosted through his mind. Dan opened his mouth to speak, only for his words to be swallowed by a gargantuan rumbling. The beaker of acid shook.

 _Earthquake..?_ Barry thought.

Suddenly, the entrance to the police bullpen blew open, and a powerful gust of wind threw a dozen officers to the ground. Barry glanced out the window. Shadowy storm clouds had engulfed the sky. The air tasted thick, as if they were locked in a hurricane. There hadn't been a forecast for storms…

In walked a man Barry never expected to see in person.

"Mark Mardon?" Barry and Dan exclaimed simultaneously.

They glanced at one another, then back at the freed criminal. He'd lost weight, his hair had grown down to his lower back, blowing in the riotous wind like a spider's web, and he was flanked by a supernatural fog, but there was no doubt in Barry's mind that this was the man who had made his father a hero. There hadn't been a report of another breakout. Had Mardon escaped today…? How?

"I WANT JOE WEST AND HENRY ALLEN!" Mark roared over the thunder, his trench coat flapping in the wind.

Two detectives drew their firearms. Mark waved a black stick—was that supposed to be a wand?—and lightning raced through the air, striking them both dead.

"DO I NEED TO REPEAT MYSELF?" Mark said.

Daniel reached for his pistol and inched toward the door to the main bullpen. The instinctive act of heroism kicked Barry back into gear. He reached for the duffel bag beside his desk and ran for the bathroom.

"Running away again?" someone chided.

Barry briefly locked eyes with Patty Spivot, who was scowling at him. He bit back a response and threw open the men's bathroom door. Luckily, it was empty. Within seconds he'd changed into his costume and made his way back around to the entrance. In that time Joe had emerged from his office, begun speaking to Mardon, and Daniel had aimed his firearm at the escaped convict.

"—here. Please, just take a deep breath," Joe urged.

The veteran cop made the mistake of glancing at his son. Mark followed his gaze. He waved his wand just as Daniel fired. The Flash's eyes widened, and he raced toward his childhood bully. Lightning tore right through the bullet Daniel had fired. The Flash reached him a moment before he would have been struck, and carried him to a safe zone out of the blast radius.

"Don't do anything stupid," Flash ordered, slowing down.

Daniel nodded dumbly, eyes wide in shock.

Most everybody else in the room had to take a moment to register what had just happened. The Flash used that time to sprint over to Mardon and landed a solid punch in his gut. The force of the hit knocked the escapee back against the wall. However, the longtime criminal had taken his fair share of blows in his lifetime and recovered quickly, twirling his wand in a circle.

Suddenly, the air picked up around him, and a tornado began to form. The Flash hesitated. That moment cost him Mardon. The tornado quickly grew to the point that it began tearing through the bullpen, throwing people aside left and right. The Flash ran into action, zooming across the walls to catch the first few victims, then, after placing them on safe ground, hopping across tables to catch the others.

Thankfully, other police officers did their part and pulled the frozen few out of the danger zone. Now the Flash just had to worry about the tornado itself. Could he just run in the opposite direction of its rotation and…? No, that was stupid sci-fi logic. Tornadoes form when cold, rainy downdrafts meet wicked hot updrafts. To cut it off, he needed to heat up the downdraft.

He considered rubbing his hands together at super speed. That wouldn't work. Whatever aura protected him while he ran would prevent him from creating sparks with friction. He needed something flammable…His desk! The Flash zoomed over to the lab, grabbed his beaker of hydrochloric acid and a tin can of soup from another scientist's desk, then looked around for…

There. A lighter. Bless Darryl Frye, the old smoker. The Flash zoomed over to the cop, who was helping a few others toward the exit, and took his lighter out of his jacket pocket.

"Sorry, need to borrow this," Flash blurred.

He ran back to the tornado before he could receive a response, sprinted along the wall to the ceiling, tossed the tin can into the beaker of acid, and then activated the lighter. The flame didn't take. The Flash grunted in frustration and reignited the lighter. This time he outright shoved it toward the chemical concoction, which had produced a flammable gas. The Flash could feel the explosion before he saw it. It torched the glove of his suit, burning the skin beneath it, before he managed to get away.

The explosion did effectively eliminate the tornado by creating an enormous hot downdraft, but it also lit the room on fire. The Flash put out the flames as quickly as possible, but much of the room had already been ruined by the time he was done. Then there was the matter of the two dead cops. If he'd acted faster…

Unable to waste time in the bullpen, the Flash checked to see if Mardon was still around—he wasn't—then made sure everyone else had gotten outside safely, and finally returned to the bathroom before the news vans arrived. By the time he'd crawled out of the window in his civvies, Joe and Daniel were knee deep in interviews, and Barry was stuck outside the crowd, alone.

…

Chester's storage room was half-empty. It had been pillaged. All that was left were half-finished projects and throwaway gadgets. His greatest and grandest (albeit rejected) ideas had been stolen.

"Somebody call the cops, the FBI, friggin' Batman!" Chess screamed.

A janitor poked his head in the door. "You good, man?"

Chess ghosted over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Do I look like I'm good?!"

Before the janitor could yell for help, Barry and Gehenna entered the scene, pulling Chess back toward their lab.

"Sorry about that," Gen said, forcing a smile. "Long day. He's just…yeah."

After they made their way back into the lab, Chess collapsed into the La-Z Boy at his work station. He leaned back in it and held his blanched face in his hands, muttering his many conspiracies as to how someone could have broken into STAR Labs and stolen his equipment.

"So it was one of yours…?" Barry surmised.

"Um—DUH." Chess exclaimed, sitting up. "Mark Mardon used MY weather wand. How he got it, I don't—oh my God! It was an inside job! It had to be Snart!"

"He worked for STAR Labs," Gehenna agreed, putting two-and-two together.

"You think they teamed up? Snart's in jail—"

"Holy crap, you're the cop, Barry! Where's Snart been jailed?" Chess pushed.

Barry's jaw quivered for a moment as he realized, "Iron Heights. They were in the same…but how…?"

"Sam Scudder had mirror powers, right? My mirror gun was stolen," Chess spoke a mile-a-minute, ignoring Barry. "What else? What [i]else[/i]? The anti-grav boots! And…and, oh shit, the heat generator. That explains Mick Rory. The cold must have been Snart's invention, but—"

"Slow down, buddy. So you're saying the Rogues—the new Rogues—are using your tech?" Barry said.

Chess nodded.

"Then can't you track it?" Barry continued.

Chess immediately stormed out of his seat and over to the computer monitors. "Crap, you're right! My God, you're a genius—I don't know why I—never mind. I got this. It's gonna take a little while, but I'll find 'em."

As Chess typed away, Barry released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in and looked at Gen, smiling. "That's a relief, isn't—"

The scientist looked down-trodden, locked in her own mind. Barry nudged her, causing her to jerk back in shock.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine, it's fine," she assured him, "I'm just on edge. I…"

"Wanna talk about it?" Barry asked.

"No, actually. Not now," Gen said. She began to head to her office. "I'll leave you guys to this. There's nothing I can really do to help."

Barry watched her walk away for a few moments before the source of her anxiety—at least to his knowledge—dawned on him. "Gen, wait! You know that's not—"

But she had already shut the door after her. Barry would have chased after her, but his phone began to buzz in his pocket. It was a reminder. His father's hearing was in an hour. Cursing under his breath, he offered Chess a quick goodbye, then sped out of STAR Labs.

…

Returning to the Derby Public Library was humiliating. Mark hadn't walked through its claustrophobic halls since he was sixteen. He'd fought off bullies in the science fiction stacks. The resulting ruckus had gotten his access suspended indefinitely. Luckily, Clyde's had remained untouched, so Mark was able to use his brother's ID to log in to a computer.

"Brings you back, doesn't it? Home sweet home," Clyde whispered.

"Password?" Mark asked.

"Same as always," Clyde replied.

Mark typed in 'downtherabbithole.' His brother thought he was clever. Mark thought he was pretentious…endearing, but pretentious.

"Hell of a haunt, wasn't this? Derby's a nice neighborhood," Clyde said.

"If you like junkies and sinkholes…" Mark trailed off, his eyes glued to the computer screen. He'd searched for one name…one man…

"Oh my God," Clyde muttered. "Henry Allen's a serial killer? Jesus. That's batshit. Just goes to show how screwed up the system is."

"That's why he wasn't at the station. His preliminary hearing starts in less than an hour," Mark said.

"Joe-friggin'-West will be there, for sure," Clyde realized, before adding, "But don't even think about it. You'll screw this up, just like last time. Flash'll get you."

"They ruined our lives," Mark began.

"Bro, you already pissed off Scudder by ditching; don't draw more—"

Mark abruptly stood up, quieting his brother. For the first time, he noticed that an elderly woman a few seats over was doing her best to inconspicuously watch his every move. She flinched when he looked her way. A cop…? Why the hell was she looking at him like he's crazy?

"Mark, you always screw the pooch," Clyde blurted.

Hands shaking, Mark tried to speak, "I…" He dry swallowed, then finished, "I have to do this. Not for me—for you. I'm your big brother, and I just let them…"

Mark choked on his words, his mind wrapped in fog. He couldn't speak, afraid of what he'd say. Of what he'd remember.

Mark Mardon left Derby Library and the nightmares behind him, but his brother ghosted at his heels.

* * *

 _boysa boysa: Elias is gone for real. As for Cold, I can't comment. That would be a spoiler! ;P_

 _Spyder Web: Thanks for your continued support!_


	5. Through the Wind and Rain

**THE FLASH: RISE OF THE ROGUES**

#5: Through the Wind and Rain

 _'I'm gonna be late!'_

The Flash swerved around the hail of bullets, and knocked the armed bank robber out with a single punch. The bad news? His two cohorts had used his gunfire as a distraction to take off in their getaway truck. They had already forced their way through half a dozen cars to the end of the block. The distance wasn't a problem; the endangered and injured civilians were.

 _'I don't have time for this!'_

"Mom—Mom, are you—HELP!"

The Flash sped to the side of a crashed Prius and vibrated its driver's side window out of its socket. Inside, an elderly woman had passed out, and wasn't responding to her middle-aged son's screams.

"Does she have heart problems?" the Flash asked.

The man frantically nodded. "An arrhythmia. The truck just—I think she's—she's going into cardiac arrest."

"Never tried this before, but here goes nothing." The Flash rubbed his hands together at superhuman speed, creating sparks of electricity between them. "Hold her steady."

The man did as he was told, as the Flash placed his charged hands onto the woman's chest, sending a jolt through her body. She spasmed, but didn't awaken.

"Round two," the Flash repeated the process. Still no luck.

The truck had reached a clear path two blocks down the street.

"Oh God, please…" the man sobbed.

"It's gonna be okay," the Flash promised, charging his hands again. "Third time's the charm."

With no time to steady his quivering hands, the Flash tried to shock the woman back to life again. She lurched forward with a gasp, and leaned against the steering wheel. The man immediately embraced his mother, tears falling over his arched, smiling lips.

"Thank you," he managed. "Thank—"

But the Flash was already gone, speeding from car to car to check on everyone else. Thankfully no one else was seriously hurt. That just left the criminals.

Scowling, he zoomed up to the side of their truck and said, "Pull over."

The thug in shotgun leaned over the driver and shattered the window with gunfire. The Flash sped around to his side, vibrated out his window, and grabbed the criminal by the collar. Without a word, he slammed the thug's head down on the dash, knocking him out. He then tossed the unconscious criminal's gun at the driver for the KO.

Vibrating into the vehicle, the Flash took the steering wheel, swerved around a car, and then hit the brakes. A teenaged couple was crossing the street at the end of the block. They froze in fear. The truck screeched over the pavement, slowing at a snail's pace. At this rate, it would hit them.

Racing for an idea, the Flash switched the truck into neutral, vibrated back out of it and sped around in front of the teenagers, facing the oncoming truck. He then circled his arms to create two whirlwinds. The cyclones trapped the vehicle and pushed it back into a lurching halt.

When he faced the near-victims, the Flash forced his best supportive smile, struggling for words, "Flash Fact: whirlwinds are an everyday occurrence caused by local atmospheric instability. You just don't notice most of them because they're so small, formed by the sun's heat and tiny air pockets."

The boy's jaw dropped. "You're a nerd."

The Flash released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in, and checked his watch. Its face was shattered, making it unreadable. He rolled his eyes and took off down the street.

 _'I'm gonna be late!'_

…

Barry clipped on his bowtie as he burst through the court room's entrance. Suddenly, the whole room—from the judge, to the jury, to Iris and Joe, and even his father—had their eyes on him. Henry sent a thankful smile his way, but it didn't make Barry feel any better. He blushed and shrunk forward.

"Sorry," he managed.

Barry slid into the front row just behind his father and right next to Iris. He was surprised to discover Gehenna sitting on her other side. He wasn't sure whether to be touched or embarrassed.

Iris reached over to Barry and squeezed his hand as the defending attorney said, "As I was saying, Your Honor, my client was forced to confess prior to receiving access to my counsel. Despite prior claims, we are prepared to defend his case."

Barry grew slack-jawed. What the hell did that mean? His father had plead guilty. What case?

"Your dad…he plead not guilty," Iris whispered. "They're going to trial."

Barry stared at his father, speechless.

What the hell had Barry missed?

…

"I'd like to call Detective Joe West to the stand," the district attorney stated.

Barry took a deep breath as his father's one-time partner stood up and walked around to be interviewed. Joe looked like just as much of a mess as Henry. Both had the same sunken eyes. However, Joe's were filled with equal parts regret [i]and[/i] anger. Barry figured he'd see a lot of that look in the coming trial.

"Detective West, you've previously told me that prior to his arrest, you considered Henry Allen to be your best friend," the prosecutor began.

Joe stared down at the floor, and nodded. "Yes."

"And you worked together in the CCPD for 24 years, correct?"

"Yes. 16 as partners," Joe agreed.

"Which is what makes your testimony so important. By all accounts, you should be biased in the defendant's favor, but you firmly believe he committed the crimes he's accused of, correct?"

"Yes, sir. I believe Henry Allen is not the man I thought he was," Joe said. This time, he looked up at Henry, his face a mask of betrayal. "I believe he murdered _innocent people_ in cold blood."

Barry felt nauseous. He wanted to leave, but he couldn't. He and Gehenna were the only ones here who knew the truth. They were the only ones who supported his father.

Why the hell had he plead not guilty? When they'd last talked, he'd seemed so content in his decision to surrender. What had changed?

"Detective West, would you please recount the events that led up to the defendant's arrest?" the prosecutor asked.

Joe gritted his teeth, struggling to begin. Barry glanced at Iris, who was nearly in tears.

"Detective West…?"

Joe opened his mouth to speak.

 _WEEEOOOO!_

Sirens. Tornado sirens. Oh no.

Barry looked over at Gehenna, who flashed her phone screen. 'THREE F5s NEARING CITY,' it read, 'MARDON.'

"Everyone, please remain calm. We'll evacuate to the basement," the judge began.

Barry had already reached the back of the court room. He ignored Iris as she called his name. He didn't dare to look back to see if his father had watched him leave. He had a job to do—lives to save.

Barry bumped shoulders with a man in a black hoodie as he walked down the court steps, and muttered, "Sorry."

The man didn't respond.

When Barry was in the clear, he sped off.

…

"Please walk to the exit," a security guard yelled over the courtroom's ruckus. "Don't run."

Gehenna tried to fall back to the edge of the crowd so she could keep up with Barry on her phone, but was forced forward by Iris, who took her by the arm.

"Gehenna, right? From STAR Labs?" Iris began. Gen nodded, eyes on her phone, tracking Barry to the first tornado. "Barry's told me a lot about you. I'm glad he's found friends who share his passions. You're good for him."

Gehenna chuckled to a joke only she understood, "Yeah, I don't know about that."

"Really, though," Iris said, "He's always had trouble making friends. Not because he's rude, but just…introverted. Quiet. He deserves better. He deserves the best."

"You're his friend," Gehenna pointed out, finally looking up.

"Yeah, but we—there's always been this wall between us. Like he can't be completely honest with me," Iris explained. "I don't know what it is, but—like how he ducked out just now. He keeps so many secrets, and I just wish he…" She shrugged.

"You mean a lot to him," Gehenna said as they exited the courtroom.

"Yeah," Iris sighed, then whispered, "But that's not enough."

"What was that?" Gehenna wondered.

Before Iris could reply, a voice boomed from the entrance, "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

Mark Mardon stood with his arms out wide, a black hoodie over his head, his weather wand in hand. He waved it, and lightning burst from its tip three times, striking each of the security guards.

Mardon cracked his neck, his eyes darkened with cold rage. "Get the hell out of my way."

…

The three cyclones swirled about fifty yards apart from one another, each marching across the Midwestern plains toward Central City. They'd reach it in five minutes, tops. Until then, they would rip apart untold miles of farmland, building up a wall of debris that would make the initial strike that much worse.

The Flash ran circles around the first tornado, staying far enough away that he didn't get caught in its grip. He didn't have any chemicals. The comms were out, so Chester and Gehenna couldn't help. He was on his own…just how he wanted it, right?

What the hell was he going to do?

…

"Barry, come in," Gehenna whispered into her phone. She received only static in return. "Barry, please, Mardon is in the court. We need y…"

She choked on that last word as thunder crackled overhead. Her heart began to race, and her knees threatened to give out from beneath her. The gunfire. Why was there gunfire?

Mardon marched toward the crowd. It split before him, giving him free reign to target Joe West, who, to his credit, stood his ground even without a weapon. Henry hid further back in the crowd, having been marched away by guards who now lay in smoldering heaps against the wall.

"Joe West. My man. Ain't second time the charm, Clyde?" Mark uttered. To whom, Gehenna had no clue. "Now we're just missing—"

Henry pushed through the crowd. "Leave Joe. I'm the one who went undercover in the cartel. I'm the one who got you arrested."

"See, that ain't gonna cut it. Clyde and I both got sent to The Heights, so we're gonna need two bodies," Mark said, raising his hand.

Thunder roared again. Gehenna heard gunfire. The world seemed to spin around her. The blood on the guards…

"Henry…" Joe began.

"Not now," Henry growled back.

"Who wants to go first?" Mark asked. The tip of his wand crackled. "How 'bout the goodie two shoes?" He flicked his arm toward Joe.

Iris stepped in front of her father.

"Oh, for the love of—" Mark exclaimed.

"Iris, move!" Joe demanded, grabbing her arm.

Iris didn't so much as flinch. How the hell was she so strong? How the hell could anyone stand up to a monster like Mardon? It was like Afghanistan all over again. Gehenna was going to stand frozen in fear as she watched a hero die.

Iris began, "Mardon, you deserved what you got. You were muscle for murderers. You sold drugs to teenagers. You killed your own brother."

"I didn't—" Mark stumbled back a step. "Clyde is right here! Why does everyone keep—he's right here!"

Mark motioned behind him. Nobody was there. He was hallucinating about his brother.

"Iris, please," Joe begged.

"You murdered your little brother," Iris stated.

"No…no no nonononono—NO!" Mark jerked around, aiming his wand at Iris. Suddenly, his voice grew eerily steady. "But you best believe I'll murder you."

Gehenna moved without thinking. She dived in front of Iris just as the lightning bolt exploded from the wand's tip.

It struck her dead-center in the chest.

…

The tornadoes were a hundred yards from civilization, and picking up speed. The Flash needed to act now. To cut them all off, he needed something hot—something massive. His options were limited. In fact, he only saw one, but it was going to be dangerous.

The Flash threw off his costume, now in nothing but his boxers and undershirt. Then, without any time to lose, he sprinted across the fields of grass, now drenched in rain, hoping that a single strang would catch fire. His clothes began to smoke, and then finally lit up. He ignored the searing pain and continued to run faster and faster…

The field lit up like fireworks. A fire roared to life, and Barry helped it along with two cyclones of his own, formed by whirling his arms at super speed. The flames raced up each, sending a wave of fire across the plains. Within seconds, the tornadoes were blocked off by a massive wall of flame. Barry sped around their sides and blew the flames up the tornadoes' cold drafts. They began to shrink, giving Barry the opportunity to pat out his flaming clothes and put on his friction-proof costume.

His clothes had burned him, but he would heal. The fields would regrow. The tornadoes were already nearly gone.

He'd saved the day again. Now he just needed to put the fires out.

All in a day's work.

…

"Why would she…" Mark stared at Gehenna's scorched body. "She's not…I don't kill innocent people. I wouldn't—" He dry swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Then, with a wave, he knocked everyone back with a gust of wind. Mark scrambled out of the court and down its steps. He'd nearly reached the bottom when he heard a voice.

"Mardon…"

It was coming from a puddle.

"Scudder," Mark stammered. "I told you, I—oh God, what did I do?"

Sirens blared in the distance. Mark looked up at the edge of the city. The tornadoes were gone, a smoking field left in their wake. A red blur raced ever closer.

"You get one more chance. Come with me or die a nobody in the Heights, just like your brother," Scudder growled.

Mark looked down at his quivering hands, clenched them, and stepped into the puddle.

…

"You knocked me out, stole the wand, and ran out on some ridiculous suicide mission," Sam said as Mardon emerged from the Mirror Dimension. "That's not gonna cut it. Not for a Rogue."

Mardon muttered to himself as he paced around the hideout—the one-time lair of Snart and Rory. He seemed not to have heard Sam. In fact, he seemed to be losing his absolute-goddamn-mind.

Sam massaged his temple in frustration. "This was a mistake. This was a huge—"

"Is Clyde here?" Mark blurted, looking at Sam.

A moment, and then he responded, "No. You've been imagining him the entire time."

"I didn't kill him," Mark said. "I remember now. I was framed. Framed because I talked to myself. Framed because everyone already thought I was crazy. The cartel, they did it. I swear to God, they did it."

"Uh huh."

"I'm not lying!" Mark roared, then grew quiet. "Clyde's dead. Jesus."

Tears creeped down Mark's cheeks, and his legs gave out from under him. Slumping down to the floor, he muttered something that Sam couldn't hear.

"What was that?" Sam asked.

"I'll join your freak squad," Mark spoke up. "But you have to swear—you have to swear you'll keep me steady. Do what Clyde did. I lose control, and I—I need someone to—"

"Sure," Sam nodded. "No problem. Consider me your new warden."

"I'm not a prisoner," Mark growled.

"It was a joke."

"Not a prisoner," Mark repeated.

"Fine, yeah, I'll be your…your Clyde. Your switch," Sam agreed.

"You're the brains. I'm the muscle," Mark said.

Sam grinned. "You read my mind."

…

 _'I was too late.'_

Barry collapsed back into a seat outside the emergency room. The security guards had died before he could reach them. Gehenna, on the other hand, wasn't dead, but she was in critical condition. He'd gotten there fast enough to speed her to the ER, but he was too slow to save her entirely. This was what happened to people close to him. His dad, Max, now Gen…

"Barry!" Chester sprinted over to him and tackled him with a bear hug. "Is she…?"

"I don't know. The doctors are doing everything they can, but…" Barry shrugged, loosely returning Chess' embrace.

"Shit," Chester sat beside Barry and put his head in his hands. "It's like we're cursed to forever visit this hospital." He perked up and forced a smile. "Hey, maybe when Gen wakes up, she'll have superpowers like you."

Barry didn't respond. He wasn't in the mood to laugh, and he certainly wasn't about to scold Chester. Not in this situation.

Suddenly, Dr. Chapel exited the ER. Barry and Chess got up to meet her. Neither had the courage to speak first.

"Gehenna's tough," Chapel began. "She's stable for now."

Chester exhaled, "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"For now…?" Barry asked. They weren't in the clear yet.

Chapel glanced at the ground. "There may be complications. Being struck by lightning is a traumatic experience for the mind and body. Given that, she may not…she may not wake up."

"How long before we know?" Barry pushed.

"It's tough to tell. A few hours…a few weeks. The lightning from the—the—"

"Weather wand," Chester interjected.

"It was unusual. There are traces of radiation that we can't identify all throughout her body. Inside all of the victims, for that matter," Chapel explained. "These aren't ordinary circumstances." She then mumbled to herself, "God, they never are nowadays."

"Thank you," Barry said, hugging her.

"We'll keep you updated," Chapel assured him, before being embraced by Chess. "Both of you. For now, just…do what you can to establish some normalcy in your lives. Try to get your mind off her, as hard as it may be."

Neither Barry not Chester replied. She bid them farewell, then returned to the emergency room. The instant the doors shut, Barry cracked.

"I can't work with you anymore."

"What?" Chester muttered.

"This can't…Team Flash shouldn't exist. All it does is endanger you, and—" He refused to give Chester a chance to speak, to stop him. "This is my decision, and mine alone. I'm the Flash, so it's my call that—that Team Flash is finished."

"Barry—"

The blond gave his friend one last hug. "Maybe we can still hang out sometimes, grab dinner or something, but you can't be a part of this. I'm sorry."

 _"From now on, I go at it alone."_

* * *

 **Sorry for how late this is. Story's not done yet!**

 **SpyderWeb: Can't comment on the direction of the plot, but I'm glad you're liking it. And yeah, I'm really glad I now get to show how intelligent Barry really is.**

 **boysa boysa: Thanks for the support! I've had this done for a while, but forgot to upload it. Next one should be out in a month max.**

 **theygotT: I didn't quit! I'm back! :)**

 **jnuuk: I'm not done yet, I promise. I just got caught up with life (and a novel I'm writing).**


	6. Legacy

**THE FLASH: RISE OF THE ROGUES  
** #6: Legacy

 **12 Years Ago**

James Jesse took a drag of his cigarette, cupped his lips into a smooth O, then blew out a ring of smoke. He steadied himself atop the oak branch as the ring widened, drifting with the wind. In the blink of an eye, James leaped off the tree and through the ring of smoke like an acrobat, then tumbled onto his feet in a spectacular show of dexterity.

The other boys erupted with applause. James shrugged it off, equal parts proud and bored. This was the fifth time he'd shown them the maneuver in less than an hour, largely due to his six-year-old cousin's obsession with his talent. He had to keep the boy pleased. If Axel went to his parents—James's legal guardians—and told them what they spent the rest of their time doing, they would ship him right back to juvie. He'd celebrated his fifteenth birthday in there, and wasn't planning on spending another behind bars.

"Hell of a trick," Harley Wilson admitted. The stocky redheaded twelve-year-old was one of James's posse, the group of three delinquent middle schoolers he had wooed with his criminal history.

"Loved it," Danny West agreed.

"Do it again!" Axel Walker cheered. The six-year-old had gotten the Jesse's coloring from his mother; he was prairie-blond and pale, just like James.

"Fuck that," James said, eliciting a mild gasp from his cousin. "I got a better idea. Let's play smear the queer."

"What's a queer…?" Axel wondered.

"Someone like him." James pointed at Danny, whose mouth fell open with shock. "Run, queer."

Danny took off without protest. James smirked. The other boys followed his word like gospel. Danny knew that, given his reaction.

The other boys—Harley, Jacob, and even Axel—chased him further into the woods behind the Walker mansion. James counted to ten, then ran after them. He was the oldest, the most athletic, and _the smartest._ If he really wanted to impress the others, he had to outthink Danny. Luckily he had a plan. He always did.

Catching up to Axel, James said, "Just watch this."

James passed the other chasers, then arced around Danny's left, forcing him toward a creek. Just as planned.

"REDRUM! REDRUM! REDRUM!" James cried with violent delight.

Whether Danny understood the joke or not, he got the threat inherent in it. As James closed in on him, he forced Danny further to the right. Soon enough, they were racing down the edge of the creek back toward the mansion, Danny just a few paces ahead of James. Suddenly, the younger boy flew through the air, dragged up a tree by a snare that had caught his right foot.

James had placed the rabbit trap days ago. He hadn't intended to use it this way, but hell, if it wasn't more fun…

James slugged the hanging boy in the gut, then screamed, "Get him! Beat the queer like a piñata!"

Within moments, the other boys had caught up to them. Harley and Jacob didn't hesitate to hit Danny. That left only Axel. The little boy crept up beside his cousin, eyes wide.

"Please don't…" Danny begged, blood trickling down his face from his busted lower lip.

"Come on, Axel. It's a dog-eat-dog world," James said. "You want to stay on top, you can't be afraid to beat your enemies while they're down." He chuckled, "Or up, in this case."

Axel looked up into Danny's deep, brown eyes, which were filled with terror. He clenched his hands into fists, but didn't swing. James opened his mouth to urge him onward, only for Axel to lash out in the blink of an eye and strike Danny in the nose. Before James could call the game, Axel hit Danny again. And again. And again. _Laughing._

The other boys looked on in shock.

"James," Danny garbled.

The sound of his name drew James out of his shell shocked state. He dragged Axel kicking and screaming away from Danny, and motioned the other boys to cut him down. As they obeyed, he forced Axel to face him.

James did his best to keep calm. Remember Axel's parents. Remember juvie. "What the hell was that?"

His cousin's lips curled up into a sick grin. "A hell of a trick."

…

 **Now**

James stared at his reflection in the creek. God, how long had it been since he'd last visited? A decade? That sounded about right. He'd run away and gotten involved with the Rogues at, what, eighteen? It had been a decade since he'd looked at this creek. Since he'd spoken to his aunt and uncle.

James sighed. The goddamn memories. Most bad. Some really bad. All of them with Axel.

Not his problem, he told himself. That wasn't why he was here. He didn't need to apologize for the boy.

Unable to fool himself, James trudged toward the Walker mansion with his heart in his throat.

…

Unable to calm himself, the Flash entered the middle school with his heart in his throat. When he'd seen the alert, he had thought it was a cruel joke. An impossible nightmare. But no, as he knew all too well, nothing was impossible.

Axel Walker was holding up a classroom. _Wally West's classroom._

Yet, contrary to all he'd heard, when the Flash sped into the classroom he found it empty, save for one person. Axel Walker stood in mid-air, smoking a cigarette, his anti-gravity boots humming beneath him. Upon the Flash's arrival, he blew a ring of smoke and tried to jump through it. The Scarlet Speedster didn't allow him to finish the maneuver. He caught him by the collar of his blue-and-yellow striped jacket and slammed him onto the teacher's desk.

Looking into Axel's blank, domino-masked eyes, the Flash spat, "Where are the children?"

"God, I thought Sammy was kidding when he said you'd gone all serious. Lookit you, The Growliest Man Alive!" Axel quipped.

"You're with Scudder," the Flash realized. "Why—"

"I thought you were anti-foreplay," Axel retorted.

The Flash grunted in frustration then raised one fist. Before he could say or do anything else, the Rogue whistled and waved one finger back and forth to shush him.

"Get my heart _really_ going and the kids go ka-fucking-boom," he said, indicating a high tech watch on his wrist. "Destroy this bad boy and you get the same."

The Flash frowned, but let him go. Axel popped his collar, grinning victoriously.

"What do you want?" the Flash asked.

"To play a game," Axel said. "The kids are scattered throughout the school with these fancy doodads on. Only one of them is an actual bomb. The rest are decoys, but they all think they've got a live one strapped to their wrists, set to blow if they stop running. Cute, right?"

The Flash grimaced. Last time he'd dealt with Axel, the thug had shown a knack for creative engineering, but this was next level. Either Scudder had hired a genius, or Axel had stepped up his game big time. Regardless, he had to play along for the kids' safety. For Wally's safety.

"What are you waiting for?" Axel mused. "Tag, you're it."

The Flash sped off, aware of the fact that by the time he returned Axel would likely be gone. There was nothing he could do. Unless…No, he couldn't call Chester. He'd ended their team for a reason. From now on, the Flash was a solo operation.

…

James tried to knock once, twice, and finally on the third time forced himself to do it. Almost half a minute passed and he considered knocking again. However, before he could, a silky, unfamiliar voice called from inside, "Coming!"

When the door opened, two facts struck James. First, as generically rich as she looked, he didn't know this woman. Second, he sure as hell didn't know the baby in her arms.

"Hi," she greeted.

"Hi, I, uh…" James tightened his jean jacket around him. "Are the—I was looking for the Walkers."

"Oh, they moved out about a year ago. Didn't say where to, just…" The woman rocked her baby after it garbled a cry. "I'm sorry, are you by chance Axel?"

"Axel? Yeah, I'm—yeah. Axel Walker. That's me," James said. What was he on about?

"My name's Holly. Nice to meet you." She extended her free hand.

Taking it, he replied, "Likewise."

"Your parents were a positively lovely couple. Made buying this house a breeze. They talk a lot, but I'm sure you know that. Nothing against them. Talkers don't bother me," the woman rambled. "They actually left something for you. Let me just—here, come on inside; I'll be right back."

James stepped inside the mansion and shut the door after himself as Holly rushed up the spiral staircase to the second floor. He took in his surroundings. They'd renovated the house, made it more…what's the word? Modern? Art deco? James frowned. With a new layer of piss-yellow paint it looked positively… _unique._

As his eyes trailed across the exquisitely disgusting wallpaper, James noticed a news alert from a television down the hall. 'MASKED CRIMINAL HOLDS JUNIOR HIGH HOSTAGE.' Axel's sophomore yearbook picture stared back at him from the screen with cruel indifference.

"…Axel Walker, who spent his childhood in and out of juvenile…"

"Mr. Walker?"

James blinked back to reality, and faced Holly with a feigned smile. "Yeah, sorry, just call me…" He grimaced. "Mr. Walker's fine."

Holly forced an awkward laugh, then extended a small yellow package to him. James briefly lost himself in the sharpied 'Axel' on its front, before he took it from her.

"Can I offer you a coffee? Or a beer?" she asked.

"No, I—I should get going. Got the night shift," James lied, opening the door.

"Oh. Sure," Holly said, "What is it you do?"

James froze in the doorway. He glanced down at the package in his hands, then back up at Holly.

As if reading a will, his lips fell into a deep frown and he muttered, "I teach."

…

Just as Axel had said, almost two dozen kids were scrambling around different classrooms, sweating, exhausted, afraid to stop moving for fear of the potential bomb strapped to their wrists. He found Wally with only one other child, running around the gymnasium. Barry couldn't play favorites. He had to help the larger groups first.

After speeding to a classroom of five children, he slowed down, stopping so they could see him. Three of the kids relaxed, but continued to move. The other two screamed.

"Shhh. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay. I'm going to help you," the Flash assured them, "In just a moment, it's going to seem like I disappeared. I promise that won't be the case. I will be right here moving at superspeed, so I can think at superspeed, so I can save you all. Do you understand?"

The kids nodded one after other, and some gave voice to their affirmations. The Flash took a deep breath, counted to three, then began to speed around the room, examining each watch with tender care and an acute eye.

He wasn't bomb squad. He didn't know how to disarm an explosive. He also didn't know if any of these watches were actually decoys. To vibrate them off the kids would be too risky. He was at a loss for what to do. Maybe he could call Chester. Maybe just this once…

The Flash cursed his idiocy. He didn't need Chester. That wasn't a matter of pride, but fact. The only person whose life he would endanger by vibrating off the watches was his own. He could speed them to an open area before they could explode. Odds were even he could escape the aftermath. After all, he wasn't called the Fastest Man Alive for nothing.

The Flash acted almost on pure instinct, moving as quickly as he ever had before. He removed each watch, vibrated out of the building, and dropped the potential bombs off at the track. After giving them a moment to explode, he discovered they were all decoys. Axel hadn't lied about that.

The Flash felt his heart thunder with confidence. Axel was still the same old reckless, cruel, dumbass kid.

He saved most of the remaining kids without conflict. By the time he returned to the gymnasium to save the last two children, he hadn't discovered a single live bomb. That left only two remaining options. He swallowed a knot in his throat, then entered the gym. There, sitting atop the bleachers, was Axel Walker.

He hadn't escaped. Why?

The Flash could deal with the Rogue later. Now, he had to save the last two kids. He removed the first's watch without trouble. That just left Wally. The preteen ran like a natural, his limbs contorted with athletic grace. He had barely broken a sweat, yet his face was a mask of fear. The watch on his wrist had a lightning bolt etched into the side. How had he missed that before? Wally had to be—

The unexpected struck the Flash like lightning. The instant he began to vibrate Wally's watch, it started to glow. He removed it as fast as he could, only for its face to activate…

…and a grappling hook to shoot out from beneath it.

In his shock, the Flash slowed enough that the watch succeeded in tugging him up to the ceiling. Before he could let go, a crimson energy field cocooned his body. He tried to vibrate through the field, only for it to shock him back. He couldn't escape.

As the watch locked itself around his wrist, the Flash glared at Axel, who began to clap.

"Bravo, Fastest Man Alive. You got the instincts of a geek," Axel taunted. "I mean, I built that thing to be fast, but damn, if you hadn't fucked up I'd be toast."

Wally looked first at Axel, then at the Flash, who shook his head. _'Don't do it.'_

"You lied. There was never a bomb," the Flash grumbled. He had to buy time until he could figure a way out of this mess.

"'Course not. I don't kill kids. To my disdain, I don't even get to kill you…yet," Axel said. His lips curled into a devilish smirk. "Sammy wants you alive."

Axel passed Wally, who tensed. The Flash prayed he wouldn't act reckless.

The Rogue continued, "He's hella obsessed with you now, ever since you made him look like the weakest mobster since Fredo Corleone. Did a ton of research. Your estimated top speeds…"

Wally creeped toward the Rogue. The Flash resisted the urge to so much as glance at the boy. He couldn't let Axel know…

"...the potential source of your powers..."

Wally broke out into a sprint, then dived for Axel's legs in an attempt to tackle him. Without looking, the Rogue hopped over the boy and landed atop his back with a nasty thud. Wally screamed.

"…even the people you saved," Axel finished, his point clear.

This had all been planned. Somehow they had found out Wally was one of the first people he had saved as the Flash. Because of that, because of all the endangered children, they knew his emotions would be volatile, uncontrolled, capable of slowing him down. They had manipulated him.

"Asshole," Wally grunted.

He tried to hit Axel, but couldn't even reach him in his pinned position. The Rogue chuckled, produced handcuffs from his jacket, then used them to restrain the boy.

"Don't hurt him," the Flash begged.

"Relax. These are regular ol' cuffs," Axel said. "Just something to keep him preoccupied in the meantime."

Axel walked beneath the Flash, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a vanity mirror. Barry knew what that meant. He'd officially lost. The Rogues had captured him.

"We're ready, boss man," Axel said.

And just like that, Axel disappeared with the Flash in tow, leaving but the mirror to shatter against the glossy gym floor.

…

"It's not your fault," Daniel repeated to his nephew. "There was nothing you could have done."

He was one of the first cops on the scene, and when the school cleared out, he was the first one inside the building, searching for Wally. Thankfully, the kid turned up fine, his ego bruised more than his body. After convincing the begrudging preteen to follow procedure and settle down with a panic blanket, they fell into a conversation that made Daniel more than a little uncomfortable.

Truth be told, he wasn't trying to calm Wally down because the kid was scared. He was trying to calm his nephew down because he was motivated.

"I need to go to STAR Labs," Wally said, his brow stitched with anger.

"You need to go home. Iris is hella worried about you," Daniel said. Then, for the utmost emphasis, he added, "There was nothing you could have done."

"You're like one of those Tickle Me Elmo dolls. I got it already," Wally said.

Daniel frowned. He was bad at this. Thank God Wally wasn't his son.

"It's not your—"

"Oh my God!" Wally exclaimed. "Can you please just stop? I appreciate the support, but stick to being the cool uncle."

Daniel felt a smirk come on. "I'm the cool uncle?"

"You're my only uncle, so there's not much competition," Wally teased.

Daniel chuckled and stood up, stretching. "Alright, let's get out of here. How's Kirito's sound for lunch? Or, hell, you want Chipotle, we'll go to Chipotle."

"I want to go to STAR Labs," Wally stated.

That ruined the mood. Daniel thought they had moved past this.

"They're not open to the public," he pointed out.

"I can get in," Wally said.

"How?"

"I know things."

"You know things?"

"Yeah. Things."

"What kind of things?"

"Uncle Dan, please," Wally begged. "I'm the only one who can—"

He abruptly faltered and fell silent. His dark eyes drifted toward his feet. Daniel wasn't stupid. Hell, he was a detective; he knew how to read people. Wally wanted to play superhero.

"The Flash works with STAR Labs," Daniel said.

Wally looked up at him, unable to hide his surprise. "How do you—"

"How do _you_ know that?" Daniel interrupted.

Wally's gaze fell, a telltale sign that whatever he was about to say was bullshit.

"…the internet."

Daniel sighed, and ran a hand through his thickly gelled hair. Recognizing no other solution, he kneeled down to Wally, looked him in the eyes, and said, "How about this: I go to STAR Labs. I work with them. I save the Flash."

Wally frowned. "You don't know…"

"Wally, just trust me, would you? I know more than I let on," Daniel said.

A moment's pause, then Wally nodded, relenting. "Fine. But you're paying for lunch."

Daniel snorted. "You think I was gonna make some broke ass kid pay for his own burrito?"

Wally shrugged. "I don't know. Iris is always on about me—"

"Getting a job? Yeah, imagine growing up with her," Daniel interjected.

Wally grinned. "She makes tiger moms look like house cats."

"Nice one. Really solid quip," Daniel teased.

"Fuck off," Wally said.

"What was that?"

"I said…screw off."

"Did you now?"

"…you're losing your rep."

"Oh no, whatever will I do as the lame uncle?"

…

True to his word, after he bought his nephew lunch and drove him home, Daniel went straight to STAR Labs. He didn't tell Iris where he was going. He didn't even tell his dad. Daniel needed to keep this on the DL. He owed Barry; all of Central City owed Barry.

Getting in proved easy enough. 'Police business' did the job. Tracking down the people who worked with Barry…that was more difficult.

He asked around about the Blackout Generator. Nobody wanted to associate themselves with it. Nobody wanted to even talk about it. STAR Labs had been struggling big time, and the one name he kept hearing—Dr. Elias—belonged to one of the company's many casualties in the wake of the accident.

No, in the end, Daniel didn't find Chester. Chester found him.

"You've been saying all the wrong sort of names. Liable to get yourself hurt," came a forced raspy voice.

Daniel, in mid-conversation with a janitor, turned around to find Chester Runk leaning against the wall, his Star Wars hoodie pulled up over his head. The young man's face was plastered with grim resolve, his brow furrowed like a PI out of an old noir flick. He looked like a freaking joke.

"Excuse me?" Daniel said. He heard the janitor groan behind him.

All at once, Chester's demeanor changed, flickering to a cheeriness that, if anything, seemed even more forced than the angst. "Hi! Chester Runk, at your service. Sorry about that. Always wanted to do a whole dramatic entrance, y'know?"

"Uh huh," Daniel nodded, shaking Chester's hand. "Detective West. Good to meet you."

"Likewise. Now if you'd follow me, I am the droid you're looking for," Chester explained, leading Daniel toward the back of the building.

They stopped inside an enormous laboratory that looked far too big for one man (boy?) who looked like he was as likely an intern as anything. The remains of the dreaded Blackout Generator lingered to the back of the room, still labeled somewhat ironically. Chester situated himself atop a desk, ignoring the many gadgets around him as he slid across it.

"So, what can I do you for?" Chester asked.

"You've seen the news, right?" Daniel said. Chester nodded. Daniel cleared his throat, and continued, "Then I'll cut to the chase. I'm here to save the Flash."

"Right. And why'd you come here to do that?" Chester replied. If he knew anything, the young man hid it well. He looked as pleasantly naïve as ever.

"You work with him," Daniel stated.

"Do I?"

"…yes?" Daniel grimaced. Had he made a mistake? The accident, the costume, all the visits to STAR Labs, Barry had to be in cahoots with them.

"We're scientists, not superheroes," Chester said.

"I know, but you…you work support."

"Nope."

"Is there someone else I can…who's in charge here?" Daniel asked.

"Gehenna Hewitt," Chester said, "She's in a coma."

"I'm sorry, I…" Daniel frowned. He had one last card to play. "Do you know Barry Allen?"

Surprise flickered across Chester's face. Boom. He got him.

"That's what I thought," Daniel said, stepping forward. "Barry's a special guy, isn't he? Really, really talented."

Chester dry swallowed. "Yep. Brilliant scientist. And cop."

"A real hero," Daniel said.

Chester tensed up, then, after a moment's pause, relaxed. Sighing, he locked eyes with Daniel and said, "You got a plan?"

…

James lit a match, then used it to spark the end of his cigarette. Screw lighters. He'd always been a fan of old-fashioned things: jazz, board games, ye olde fire starters. He supposed if he was really old-fashioned he'd used a flint and—

Crap. Again. He was distracting himself, trying not to think about…

James looked down at the package in his hands, then up at the blind woman on the bench across the way. This late, Blacksoil Park should have been all but abandoned, left only to horny teens and drug dealers. Yet this ancient hag stuck around, just chilling, maybe sleeping, her dress unbuttoned a quarter way, leaving a disturbing amount of sagging cleavage in the open.

She hadn't so much as twitched for the last hour. Was she dead? No. No way. Just, like, not that long ago she'd fed some pigeons. Speaking of old-fashioned…

James grimaced, and took a drag. He needed to open the package. He'd postponed it long enough. Forget the creepy ass old lady. Forget that it's not yours. Open the stupid…

"Not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you, handsome? That's why you were never the leader," the old woman spoke with a thick cockney accent.

"Excuse me?" James replied, more confused than offended.

"You can be clever, sure, but you're not smart. There's a difference," she continued, "Maybe it's just that you don't have a sense of self-preservation. Not uncommon in your type, certainly."

James' mind seemed to become thick, slow-moving like sludge. "You're…you're not blind."

"Finally! Took you too bloody long to realize I've been watching you," the woman said.

She stood up with surprising grace, and strutted over to James. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was trying to seem sexy, like a femme fatale out of an old spy flick. Instead of sitting beside James, she straddled him. He tried to protest, but she shushed him quiet. Slipping her wallet out from her bra, she flashed a silver badge before he could push her off.

"James Jesse, we need to talk," she whispered.

The wind blew soundlessly. James' lips twisted into a frown. Suddenly, he felt the muzzle of a pistol against the back of his neck.

" _What the fu—"_

* * *

 **Again, sorry for how late this issues is. It's actually been done for a while, but my life went to hell in April and I forgot to update this. Anyway, next issue should be up pretty soon.**

 **SpyderWeb: Glad you're enjoying it. As for Gehenna…we'll see where her story goes. I'd be lying if I didn't admit the court room scene was slightly inspired by the Trial of the Flash, but the similarities are mostly coincidental. I actually stopped watching the Flash shorty after that episode. To me, it's gone a bit off the rails.**

 **theygotT: Gehenna isn't dead! Read on and find out her fate. As for shipping…yeah, I almost wrote a storyline where she and Barry got together, but decided on a different course. As evidenced by First Steps' epilogue, Barry/Iris are endgame, but Gen…well, she might just have a love story coming down the pipeline.**

 **Jnuuk: Thanks for the enthusiasm! Love you guys!**

 **Boysa boysa: I'm SO happy everyone enjoyed the last issue. It was a lot of fun to write, and one of my favorites yet. Thanks for your most recent 'review,' because it reminded me to update this. You rock, my friend!**


	7. One Long Trick

_Instead of sitting beside James, she straddled him. He tried to protest, but she shushed him quiet. Slipping her wallet out from her bra, she flashed a silver badge before he could push her off._

" _James Jesse, we need to talk," she whispered._

 _The wind blew soundlessly. James' lips twisted into a frown. Suddenly, he felt the muzzle of a pistol against the back of his neck._

" _What the fu—"_

 **THE FLASH: RISE OF THE ROGUES**

#7: One Long Trick

"—Carlotta, get the hell off of him," came a husky new voice.

James resisted the urge to scream. The newcomer was standing right behind him, her breath misting down his neckline. However, as the stench of tobacco washed over James, he felt oddly relaxed. He supposed that's what years as a smoker would do for you.

The… _passionate_ old woman, presumably Carlotta, sighed and slipped down beside James. She did not remove her pistol from its place against his neck. He didn't know what was worse: the creepy breathing or the actual threat of death.

"Don't think I moved for your yellow-belly ass, Kim. Position's just bad for my hips," Carlotta muttered.

"Pardon Agent Samson," said the newcomer. "She's just trying to relive her glory days 60 years past."

James couldn't make out the newcomer, what with a gun pressed to his neck. Thankfully, she came around the bend, revealing the petite form of a Chinese little person. Unlike Carlotta, she wore the tell-tale uniform of a secret agent: a classic suit and tie.

Oh my God, the Feds were after him.

"You talk smart, but you smoke like it's still fashionable. Didn't anybody tell you a smoking Chinaman is a stereotype?" Carlotta spat.

"You're the reason I smoke. I'd go crazy otherwise," Kim retorted.

"Oh yeah, 'cause you're the paragon of sanity."

"What does that even mean?"

"Excuse me," James interjected. The women looked at him. He dry swallowed. "Am I under arrest?"

A moment passed. Then, both women erupted with laughter.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, big boy?" Carlotta snorted.

"Self-destructive idiot," Kim added.

"What's going on then?" James asked, doing everything in his power not to blow up on the woman with a gun to his throat.

"We're with the DEO," Kim explained.

"He doesn't know what that means," Carlotta interjected. With a flourish, she stated, "Department of Extranormal Operations," as if that answered all his questions.

Kim flashed her own badge, emblazoned with a…was that an eagle? "We want to recruit you."

James frowned. "So…extranormal, like you enforce parking tickets and mop regulations?"

Kim rolled her eyes. "Extranormal as in paranormal. Metahuman, alien, the likes."

"And you want me?" James mumbled.

"You bet," Carlotta said.

"Okay," James said.

Kim cocked her head. "Okay as in…?"

"I'll join," James admitted.

"Just like that?" Carlotta wondered. "I mean, we could be assassins. Or kidnappers. You're just trusting our word."

"You have the badges, and seeing as I'd likely to go to jail otherwise…" James shrugged. "I do have a couple requests, though."

"Okay," Kim said.

"Okay as in…?" James asked.

"We're all ears."

James looked down at the package in his hands. Axel's package. For the first time in a while, he felt optimistic.

Maybe he could fix this after all.

…

"Wake up, Barry. Rise and shine. Breakfast's ready!"

Barry batted his eyes, trying to adjust to the bright light. A spotlight. And that voice…it belonged to Axel Walker.

Barry was trapped, restrained in an energy field against a wall. Worse, much worse, he was unmasked. Standing just a few feet away, Axel Walker shined the light on him and cackled like a hyena. To the criminal's right stood Sam Scudder. Further back, in the shadows, rested Mark Mardon, the only one without a smile on his face.

Barry had been captured by the Rogues.

"It is Barry, right? As in Bartholomew Henry Allen?" Scudder teased.

"You're in deep shit," Axel mused.

Barry opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a loss. He didn't know what to say. He'd been beaten. That didn't mean he would give up, but…what the hell could he do?

"Don't fret, Barry. We aren't going to kill you yet." Sam stepped forward. He made a gun with his hand and 'fired' it at Barry. "We're going to ruin your life, just like you ruined mine. Axel, whenever you're ready."

"Already got the lights." Axel reached into his pocket and produced his cellphone. He held it up and began to film himself. "Here's the camera. And—action!"

"Hello, world! It's me, your resident fave supervillain, Axel Walker. I need a super name, don't I? Shit, well, that's for future Axel to figure out. For now, I gotta keep you on the edge of your seats, because I got a big surprise for you!" Axel danced around to Barry's side, but only filmed his suit's crest. His face remained out of frame. "For those who haven't heard, I captured the Flash! And in thirty minutes—"

Sam ripped the phone out of Axel's hands. "In thirty minutes, after we build a proper audience, we'll unmask him to the entire world. And please, cops, feds, anyone with a decent IT staff, try to find us. This connection's untraceable, unhackable, courtesy of a new friend of ours."

…

"So, relax. Lean back, pop some popcorn, pour yourself a glass of wine. It's gonna be a hell of a show," Sam's smile shined white through the screen. "And don't forget—the Rogues remember."

Just like that, the screen cut to a slideshow of pictures of the Flash and a timer counting down from thirty minutes. The song "Fourth Dimensional Transition" played over the images. Chester muttered more than a few choice curse words.

"You said you can track their tech," Daniel urged, sitting beside Chester on his desk.

The two were situated in the main lab. For the last few minutes, until the Rogue's video had streamed, Chester had been typing furiously away at his computer.

"I said I could try," Chester flushed. "I mean, I did already. Back when Mardon was on a rampage, I tried to track his weather wand— _my_ weather wand, but came up with nada. Someone's recoded it. Built new firewalls. Whatever." He threw his arms up in frustration. "Shit! It's like Mirror Master—or Scudder, or whatever the heck you want to call him, said. They're out of my reach. I'm not a hacking expert. I'm an engineer, and they—they have some stupid genius on their side!"

"So what? There's nothing we can do?" Daniel pushed.

Chester shook his head. "Unless they decide to shoot up a flare…" He trailed off, staring into space.

Daniel frowned. "What?"

Suddenly, Chester burst up out of his seat, causing Daniel to jump.

"I'm such an idiot! Holy—" Chester pumped his fist in the air. "Mardon's weather wand, it's radioactive. Not, like, cancer radioactive, but—"

"Get to the point," Daniel said.

"The wand sends up this constant radioactive flare, you feel me? And sure, there's all sorts of radiation going on all the time around us, right, but the wand's is unique. It's off the grid. I didn't even know about it until Gen was…" Chester shook himself to reality. "Never mind. Point is, I can track the radiation, so I can track the Rogues."

"I could kiss you!" Daniel exclaimed. Chester tried to pull him into a hug, but he resisted, pointing to the computer. "No—work! Do your thing. We have less than half an hour!"

"Right, right," Chester sat back down. "I got this. Only gotta invent a whole new way to track a brand new form of radiation and leave time to save Barry before his ID is revealed to the world. No big deal."

"Shut up and type," Daniel said.

"Not a big deal at all."

…

"…don't forget—the Rogues remember."

Wally hated feeling powerless. He hated doing nothing, shrouded in a blanket, moping. Most of all, he hated being treated like a victim, but that's exactly how everyone— _everyone_ —treated him. Including…no, especially Iris.

"You've gone through more than most adults, and you're only twelve," Iris said, handing him a mug of black tea. "Honestly, Wally, you're my superhero."

Wally grunted in response. He wasn't fragile. He didn't need this bullshit.

Iris sat down beside him and took his free hand. "Do you want to go see a movie? Watch Netflix?"

Wally's mouth moved thoughtlessly, "I want to go on a run."

"…okay," Iris said, "Do you want company?"

Wally shook his head, and trudged over to the kitchen. He placed the untouched cup of tea in the sink, and locked eyes with Iris.

"Could you grab a hoodie for me?" he asked.

Iris offered a gentle smile, "Of course."

The instant she left the room, he swiped her car keys off the counter and walked quickly out of the apartment. He picked up speed as he reached the stairwell, and entered a full on sprint when he entered the parking lot. He started Iris' car and pulled out of the lot as quickly as possible. Moreover, he didn't bother to look back as he drove off, afraid that the sight of Iris' anger and fear would motivate him to stop.

The instant he hit the highway, Wally put the pedal to the metal. He raced awkwardly around other vehicles, swerving, accelerating, and breathing to the beat of Kendrick Lamar.

Eventually, he caught sight of a cop car. Wally eyed his speedometer: 84 mph. He slammed his foot down on the accelerator, picking up speed. Just as he passed 100 mph, he zoomed past the police cruiser. His heart raced, his breathing pounded out, and—

The cop ignored him. No lights, no siren, nothing. The cruiser remained parked in place, for whatever reason.

Wally cursed under his breath, and slowed down. He pulled to the side of the highway, and beat his hands wordlessly against the steering wheel. Allowing a sigh to escape his lips, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

In a flash of crimson lightning, someone—something—knocked Wally out, and dragged him from the car.

The sudden burst of light awoke a nearby police officer, the same one who'd slept through Wally's reckless act of rebellion. When the cop checked on the parked vehicle, he found it abandoned, the radio sounding off:

" _And I'm not sure why I'm infatuated with death._

 _My imagination is surely an aggravation of threats,_

 _That can come about, 'cause the tongue is mighty powerful,_

 _And I can name a list of your favorites that probably vouch._

 _Maybe cause I'm a dreamer and sleep is the cousin of death."_

…

"I'm like both shit-my-pants scared, and hyped as hell," Chester whispered, fingering his utility belt. He and Daniel inched closer to the entrance to the Rogues' warehouse headquarters. "I suddenly get the appeal of being a cop."

"It's not usually like this at all," Daniel said.

"Sure, 'cause y'all profile instead of arresting thugs like the Rogues."

"I'm black," Daniel retorted.

"You pass as white," Chess replied.

"Okay, we are not arguing racial politics right now. Heads up, we breach on three," Daniel said.

"Can you believe the Rogues are here? This is like the most stereotypical working class criminal hideout of all time," Chess muttered.

"Three…two…one—"

"Kumbaya, mother duckers," Chess said.

Daniel slid the door open, and Chess tossed in a flashbang. The cop immediately reclosed the door, and cocked his pistol. Chess produced his gravity gun just as the flashbang went off. Yells echoed inside the warehouse. Daniel threw the door open.

That was when the warehouse exploded.

It wasn't fire that overcame Chess and Daniel, but light, as a sharp ringing drowned out their screams. In the blink of an eye, their surroundings shifted, and they found themselves inside a realm of reflection: the mirror dimension.

A dozen paces ahead of them stood the Rogues. To their right hung Barry, trapped on the now-foundationless warehouse wall.

The next few moments passed in a flash. The Rogues attempted to blink away their blindness, as their assailants were forced to do the same. The warehouse began to crumble, its roof roaring like a dying giant. Barry's force field flickered apart, and he vibrated out of his restraints. Axel tossed a plastic skull at Daniel, who quickly fired his pistol. The bullet collided with the skull, which exploded.

The whole building came down around them.

Barry tried to speed to his allies' aid, but the explosion knocked him off his feet. Sam snagged Mark by the collar of his jacket and dragged him out of the mirror dimension. Axel zigged and zagged around falling debris, scrambling for one of the mirror gates. A chunk of the ceiling toppled toward Barry, only to stop in mid-air. Chess had his gravity gun aimed with shaking hands, barely holding the debris steady.

"Run, Barry, run—"

Barry scrambled onto his feet and snagged Daniel and Chester. He sped them out of the warehouse, then immediately went back in for Axel. The Rogue's weak sobs caught Barry's attention. Axel was trapped beneath a mound of rubble, unable to move. Barry vibrated the debris to dust, freeing the criminal, but he was too late. Axel's face was covered in dirt and blood, and his right arm was a pulpy mess. He was dying.

Barry carried Axel out of the crumbling building and set him on the non-existent floor beside the others.

"Oh my God…" Chess mumbled.

"We can't—we're trapped," Barry said. Nausea clung to his stomach, and he stumbled. "There's nothing we can do."

Eyes swelling shut, Axel laughed. His laughter faded to a coughing fit, then to sobs. None of the others knew what to say.

"You saved me. You fucking saved me," Axel mumbled, "And the Rogues…the Rogues…"

Axel coughed once more, then fell silent.

…

Sam Scudder and Mark Mardon emerged from the mirror dimension inside the old Scudder mansion. Coughing up dust, Mark motioned back to the mirror from whence they'd arrived.

"We have to go back…" Mark choked out.

"Can't. It's done." Sam leaned back against the wall. "The Flash is dead."

The two Rogues locked eyes, the reality of their situation settling in. Mark opened his mouth to protest, but found himself at a loss. If the Flash had survived, he was trapped. He would starve, and they…the Rogues would win. They had won.

Sam began to laugh, only to stumble into a coughing fit. This, in turn, made him laugh more. Mark looked at him dumbly for a moment, before joining in.

"What a joke," Mark muttered.

"Like we pulled some stupid trick on him," Sam chuckled.

" _You're supposed to be on air right now. What happened?"_

Sam and Mark looked over at the newcomer, a scrawny young Hispanic man in a Star War t-shirt. He was their secret weapon. Their tech genius, Cisco Ramon.

"Things went…awry," Sam admitted. He looked in the mirror, and fixed his comb-over with his hands. "But the Flash is dead, and Axel with him."

"What?" Cisco's voice quivered with as much anger as surprise. "We were supposed to ruin his life before we killed him. It's the only reason I worked with you in the first place—"

"Relax," Sam urged, biting back his irritation. "Yeah, he's dead. So what? We can still tarnish his legacy."

Cisco stared at Sam for a moment, then relented with a nod.

"And you're supposed to be the smart one," Sam muttered.

"You need to go on air right now and announce his death. Reveal his identity," Cisco ordered.

Sam jerked up, towering over the techie. His cheeks flushed with rage. "Slow down, Ramon. I'm in charge here. We're gonna take a break first, mourn our goddamn teammate, then we'll talk the next step—"

"Axel was a conceited brat, just like you," Cisco spat.

Sam grabbed Cisco's shirt and shoved him against the wall. "Y'know what, I'm about sick of your mouth, Ramon. Axel worked with us. He may have been a little shit, but he was one of us. Far as I'm concerned, you ain't, so don't think I would hesitate to drop you."

"Take a deep breath, boss," Mark urged, stepping forward.

"Listen to sparklestick if you want to keep that hand," Cisco growled.

Sam's face twisted with rage. "That's it—"

Crimson lightning flashed across the room. In the blink of an eye, Cisco stood free, while Sam's right hand lay in a bloody puddle on the ground. Both Rogues struggled to process what had just happened until pain forced Sam onto his knees. As his boss screamed, Mark raised his weather wand, only to lose it in another flash of crimson light.

Cisco twirled the wand between his fingers, chuckling like a madman. Beside him stood Jamie Missichkone, whose body still crackled with blood red energy. Savitar's Fallen was dressed in all black, including matching leather jacket and pants. His blank red eyes glared back at Mark, as if urging him to attack again.

"What the hell…?" Mark muttered.

"Should've done this from the start," Cisco began, "But I figured, why the hell not play along? There's something about playing second fiddle while quietly conducting the orchestra that's…exciting to me. It's supervillain 101. Behind the scenes manipulation is so subtle, so rich with character."

Sam whimpered, drawing a sneer from Cisco, who kicked him across the chin. _"Quiet!"_ The Rogue abided by the command, biting his lip so hard her drew blood.

Cisco smirked at Sam's submission, saying, "Mirror Master…such a stupid name. Won't age well." He motioned to his superfast minion. "Clean Mirror Master up. I'm not done with him yet."

The Fallen sped Sam out of the room, leaving Mark alone with Cisco, who examined him carefully.

"You're a bit…loose cannon for my tastes, but I'm not ready to show my face—or rather, Cisco's—just yet." He reached into his pocket, then tossed Mark his smart phone. "You're up. Spread the news."

"You want me to…to…the Flash is dead?" Mark mumbled, struggling to control the voices in his head. If he stepped out of line, lost control, Cisco might consider him extraneous and…

"Oh yeah. Let the whole world know his truth, too. Barry 'Goodie Two Shoes' Allen. And, of course, tell them that the Gem Cities are ours," Cisco cracked his neck. "That they belong to [i]my[/i] Rogues."

"The National Guard, hell, the whole US government will be after us," Mark protested.

Cisco's lips twisted into a sick grin. "Oh, I'm betting on it."

…

James Jesse twitched nervously in his seat, fingering the package in his hands. He thought it would be easier, that he wouldn't feel so…guilty. Yet here he was, in the heart of Iron Heights penitentiary, quivering in his boots at the thought of seeing his old partner…his old friend again. He'd abandoned him, left him to rot when he could have worked with the others to free him. To free…

Leonard Snart walked through the doors, his blue eyes cold with apathy. He wore his prisoner orange like a kid wore their parent's clothes. It didn't fit. It just looked…wrong, almost amusingly so.

Len's escort locked his cuffs to the table, and situated himself at the back of the room.

"Please leave us be," Agent Kim Kuan addressed the guard, who looked at her for a moment, surprised, then left.

An awkward silence fell over the room. James tapped his fingers against the desk, unable to look across the table at Len, who was staring at him. Finally—

"Whatever this is, I want no part in it," Len stated, matter-of-fact.

"Hey to you too, buddy," James blurted.

Len leaned forward and whispered so only James could hear. "This ain't a trick, is it? You're really going narc."

"What did he say?" Kim demanded.

"He called me a narc," James admitted.

To that, Len slipped back, his gaze even more detached. "It was good to see you, James, but respectfully go fuck yourself."

"I haven't even started to discuss the proposal," James said.

"I don't want to hear it," Len replied.

"You'd serve the rest of your sentence working for the DEO, combating superhuman criminals," Kim explained.

"What did I just say?" Len grunted.

James forced himself to speak up, to argue with his longtime boss and mentor. "The others, everyone but Mick, they betrayed you. Sam's making his own Rogues without you. This is your chance to get back at him—"

"By becoming a cop?" Len interrupted, silencing James. "The whole system's rigged. I ain't playing a part in it."

James' temper slipped out from him. "You were always a part of the system, Len, just on the wrong side—"

"Screw you," Len spat.

James took a deep breath, then begged, "Please, Mick won't even see me without you."

Len didn't get the chance to respond, as Katy Perry's "Firework" played, grabbing the attention of the room at large. It was Kim's ringtone. Len snorted. The secret agent didn't seem to care.

"Hello?" she answered. "Uh huh. Yeah, I'm with him…yep…you're shitting me…I'll break the news. Alright, bye. Screw you, too, Carlotta."

She hung up and patted James on the head.

"What's that for?" he muttered.

"My sympathy, Jesse. Your cousin's dead," Kim said plainly, as if discussing the weather or her least favorite boy band.

The whole world seemed to halt around James. His ears rang. His lips forced out, "Axel?"

He couldn't hear Kim's confirmation, but he understood her nod. His eyes drifted down to his hands, to the package in it, then up to Len's chains. Without thinking, he stood up and left the room. No one followed him out, nor to the bathroom. Once there, he locked himself in a stall, and ripped the package open.

The first thing he found was a dozen or so twenties tied together with a rubber band. Next, he stumbled across a letter, though he couldn't bring himself to read it. And last…last he found a toy. An action figure of the comic book Flash, something James had shoplifted and given to him for his ninth birthday. He hadn't realized Axel's parents had kept it, or, for that matter, the boy had either. Axel hated superheroes.

James' eyes drifted to the note, but without reading it he understood. Axel had kept the toy because he looked up to him. As terrible as he could be, Axel was still family.

And he was dead.

James did not, could not cry. As much as he wanted to, his body wouldn't let go. Luckily, he had something to distract him.

"Jesse?" came Kim's voice from the doorway.

"Yeah," James said.

"Snart's joining our team."

"What?" That didn't make sense. Len would never…

"He said he's gotta teach Scudder a lesson. Gotta avenge Axel, or some shit. Really, I think he's planning on backstabbing us, but we got ways to prevent that," Kim explained.

James took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He could do this. He could succeed where Axel failed. He could make up for his sins, and avenge his cousin. He would—

"You crapping in there?" Kim called.

James sighed and flushed the toilet. "Just finished."

…

In a location unknown, Cisco Ramon watched as Mark announced the Rogues' rule and the Flash's death to the world. He was slowly building up to the ultimate reveal…

 _KERRRANK!_

"Keep it down, would you?" Cisco called back.

Twenty paces behind him, three scientists stopped work on an enormous circular machine, a Blackout Generator. The first, the elder Harrison Wells, shot Cisco a venomous glare. The second, one Darwin Elias, collapsed onto his rear, exhausted. The third, on the other hand, took a moment to wipe grease from his hands, his face masked in soft fear. This young man was the real Cisco Ramon. This young man had his identity stolen by…

"The Ghost," Wells grumbled, "Who the hell wants to be called the Ghost? So melodramatic."

"Extra af," the real Cisco agreed, to which Wells just rolled his eyes.

"Quiet down, 'less you want him to hear you," Elias said.

"That's the goal," Wells replied.

To their right, The Fallen watched them with cold, dead eyes, then glanced to the center of the machine where the last captive was tied. Mumbling tearlessly, Wally West resisted the urge to cry, unable to see or speak due to his restraints.

"… _last promise, the identity of the Flash. Though we can't confirm it with actual evidence given his…condition, I can promise you what you're about to hear is the truth,"_ Mardon's voice rang out from the TV.

Faux-Cisco, The Ghost, grinned toothlessly. He stood up, his eyes glued to the screen. "Do you want to know my real name, Dr. Wells?"

Elias stepped back nervously. Cisco dug his nails into the floor. Wells, however, just muttered obscenities, and offered no real response.

Mardon continued, _"The Flash was a resident of Central City. The child of a criminal. A police scientist…"_

The Ghost motioned back to the Fallen, who instantly grabbed Wells and sped him to his master. In an instant, the Ghost's fingers had wrapped around the veteran scientist's throat, choking him into submission.

"My name is Eobard Thawne…" the Ghost began, eyes on the screen, forcing Wells to his knees.

"… _whose name was Barry Allen."_

"…and I will be the Fastest Man Alive."

...

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED IN THE FLASH: LEGACY OF BARRY ALLEN**_

 **Boysa boysa: Glad you're enjoying it! I was really proud of how that flashback turned out.**

 **MentalMind: Thanks for checking this out! I'm really happy you read First Steps so quickly!**


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